Crush
by Marcus Gaudry
Summary: Short staffed, the BAU calls on a former team member to help on a case connected to a rock band in California. Meanwhile, Reid reviews the details of a recent case.
1. Chapter 1

_San Bernardino, California_

The Main Set of the Prettymouth concert had drawn to a close, and already he could see that Jeff MacIver was leaving; no doubt to write a poor excuse of a critique of the show. Jeff had already completely trashed their latest and greatest album in print, so he saw no reason why such a vicious poison-pen so called journalist would have any compunctions about doing the same to their kick-off show at the Glen Helen Amphitheatre.

 _"The Son of a Bitch doesn't even have the decency to stay for the encore."_ Shelley whispered in his ear. _"Do you love me?"_

"You know I do." He answered truthfully. He has always loved Shelley Mason ever since the very first time he saw Prettymouth – the band which she leads – play in that pub five years ago; that was their first actual public show. He also knew that she saw him and knew, like he knew right then, that they were meant for each other. That night, she came onto the stage wearing a fedora, and about half way through their opening song she tossed it right at him so it landed squarely on his head. Sure, it was a cheap knock-off of a proper fedora, but what could he expect? It wasn't like she knew they would meet; he didn't know either. Besides, they, the band, were just getting started and probably had a budget to work on. Her gesture was obviously a spontaneous reaction to seeing her truest of true loves walk into her life. How he got so lucky to capture the heart of such a perfect siren he had no idea, but he wasn't going to complain about, either. After that first show, he made every effort to go to every show Prettymouth put on in the State, making a point to always wear the hat she gave him. He would have followed her across the country if he could afford it; he had no doubt that she would foot his bill if he asked her to, but he didn't want to burden her like that. At one of the shows leading up the production of their first album, she made it clear she saw him; she even smiled, pointed, and waved at him as part of the show. She gave public acknowledgement of their love. Most people dismissed it as just a random thing she did, but he knew better. Of course, the album was a huge success; how could it not be with Shelley Mason as the face and voice of Prettymouth? This was followed by a second album, even better than the first one. He was overjoyed when some of the sentences he wrote in a love letter to her were actually put into a song that made the album, and nearly fainted with excitement when that song: "CRUSH" it was called, became a chart topping hit single. Their love was known and celebrated by everybody. Then that fat, old jealous Jeff MacIver had to go and trash the album; just because he had no talent of his own. That wasn't as bad as that sleazebag photographer Dylan Fox taking those filthy pictures of Shelley, so he was willing to let Jeff off the hook for now. It was after the business with Dylan that he made a point to make sure he could stay as close to Shelley as possible; to keep her safe and ensure that nobody hurts her ever again. Hence the jobs on the band's security detail.

 _"His article hurt me."_ She whispered. _"You know he's going to say those awful things about me again, right?"_

"He probably will." He agreed. "Listen to me, not him. He's just a fat, old, no-talent loser that doesn't even count, anyway."

Shelley pouted in that way he could not resist. _"Can you go talk to him? Take care of him? Make sure he doesn't; will you do that for me?"_ She crooned.

He couldn't say no; not to her. He nodded yes, and her pout turned around into that same amazing smile she had when she gave him the hat. Then she kissed him on the cheek, and thanked him.

 _"Now it's time for the encore!"_ she said. _"I haven't done our song yet."_

And then Shelley Mason hurried to return to the stage from backstage with the rest of her band. He turned and found his way to the parking lot, hoping he would be able to catch up to Jeff MacIver before he got too far ahead. As luck would have it, Jeff was just about to get into his car when he found him. He pulled his phone out and got a snapshot of the licence plate before going back to get his own vehicle. He would just have to track Jeff MacIver to wherever his next destination was bound to be.

He got into his car and started the engine. Before pulling out to track and tail Jeff MacIver, he turned on his stereo and pushed play. His song – their song, really – came on through the speakers as he began to drive...

 _Virginia_

No matter how hard he tried, Dr. Spencer Reid could not quite make the pieces fit properly. Ever since the team got back from the Bay Harbor Butcher Copycat case in Miami, there were elements of it that nagged at him; in many ways everything fit a little too neatly for his liking, and in other ways certain factors just didn't seem to add up. Perhaps that was why he chose that particular case to use as his review for the students now filing into the University Lecture Hall. Of course, to do a full review as a case study, he'd have no choice but to go into the original case as well.

Jacob Elway was the Copycat Butcher. There was no doubt about that. Miami Homicide detective Joseph Quinn made the final arrest after Jacob Elway shot and killed Quinn's associate Scott Hamelin, and shot BAU Unit Chief Emily Prentiss. After a brief chase, Elway attempted to resist arrest, prompting Quinn to use what some may call excessive force to subdue the suspect. The UNSUB, Jacob Elway, died a few hours later in hospital of cardiac arrest. The official cause given was that the heart attack was the result of strain related to his injuries. There was a review of the case, and Quinn was ruled as free of guilt given the circumstance. It wasn't the Copycat case that bothered Spencer; it was the original Bay Harbor Butcher case that Frank Lundy profiled that seemed wrong somehow.

The profile itself looked solid enough, that wasn't the issue. The problem Reid had was with the UNSUB that was declared as being the Butcher. All the evidence in that case fit to name Sgt. James Doakes, and at a stretch he did fit the profile, but even according to Lundy's notes there were better fits. What was also apparent was that he, Reid, wasn't the only one who thought Doakes may have been framed. Years later, a blood slide was found on a totally unrelated crime scene; blood slides were the original Butcher's signature trophy, most likely used so he could relive each kill over and over again until the need for a fresh trophy arose. At the time, then Captain Maria LaGuerta insisted that proved that Doakes was not the Butcher at all, but the Butcher was still out there and had something to do with the death of Travis Marshall, aka the Doomsday Killer. LaGuerta reopened the Butcher case and right up until her death in a shootout was certain that blood-spatter analyst Dexter Morgan was her prime suspect. More evidence surfaced during her investigation that only pointed more conclusively to Doakes being the Butcher. Now Reid was faced with something of a dilemma; did he trust the profile which practically screamed that Dexter was a better match, or did he trust the evidence that fit Doakes so perfectly it was actually a little frightening?

That was when, just as the class was filed in, that his phone indicated he had a text message. It was from Rossi calling him back to Quantico. Prentiss was still recovering from her injuries, so Rossi was acting as Unit Chief. He had no choice; he apologized to the class, saying he had to postpone this lecture and head out to another case. He added that this was in itself a lesson to consider; in all branches of the FBI, including the BAU, one had to be ready to move at a moment's notice.

 _Quantico_

Penelope Garcia waited until the team was assembled. JJ and Rossi were already there, and the Newbie Alvez showed up within moments after Rossi sent the text calling the team together. Prentiss was back in Virginia, but not on duty, and Walker was mysteriously MIA. While that was distressing, that wasn't what the team was called together for. The Boy Genius arrived last; and it troubled Garcia that the current team roster looked so small.

With so much of the team down the chatter and banter was uncomfortably low, so Garcia was able to get right down to grim work at hand.

"Alright, kiddies, let's get started." Garcia began with the first slide; an image of three victims; the first being by the most brutally beaten before he was strangled to death, the second also beaten badly, and the third sustaining a broken nose before strangulation. As creepy as it made her feel, Penelope wondered to herself what the team would make of what she was sure they would call a de-escalation of violence. It was a rare thing to see; it seemed this creep was becoming more controlled as he added to his count. "Our next stop is San Bernardino, California; home of the first ever McDonald's, even thought that little tidbit of trivia has nothing to do with this case; I just had to add something to put some happy magic in this grim and greasy tale. Let me introduce you to the most recent of a string of strangulations, the late Jeff MacIver."

"Wait; is that as in Jeff MacIver the music critic?" Reid asked. The others all turned to look at Reid with a bit of surprise. "What?" he asked. "It's not like I don't pay any attention to modern music." He mimed quotation marks around the words modern music.

"The one and only" Garcia confirmed. "Freelance music critic Jeff was found in his home with his nose broken...nay, shattered, and strangled to death last night after an anonymous tip called in to report seeing MacIver's door wide open. Police came by to investigate and found our victim as you see him now."

"MacIver has a bit of a reputation for tearing musicians down." JJ commented.

"I've seen him around in writer circles," Rossi added. "He's what some in the industry call a poison pen. Maybe he pissed off the wrong person."

"Do you mean like someone came to his door to confront him, he beaked off, got his nose busted and then our UNSUB lost his cool?" Alvez suggested.

"Could be," Rossi agreed, turning back to Garcia. "There are three photos up there, Garcia. What else have you got for us?"

Garcia went on to the next image; this one was of a severely beaten man, also strangled. "This is Dylan Fox, who was a photographer for a celebrity rag, known also to take candid shots that he would then sell on the sly to shall we say a more 'adult' clientele. He was found as is in this image two weeks ago in his studio, also in San Berdoo." She moved on to the next, and by far the worst image of the three. He was beaten into a bloody pulp before being strangled and killed. This image was taken in what looked like a small apartment; which also looked like it had either been ransacked or torn apart during a brawl. "This fine young gentleman is Sean Dryer. As you can see, he was found in his apartment beaten and strangled to death six weeks ago, again in San Bernardino. Mr. Dryer, FYI, had a criminal record as long as Interstate 5, mostly drug offences, but also a couple of sexual harassment and an attempted assault charge."

"Charming guy" Rossi commented.

"So we have three victims, all male, all assaulted and strangled." Alvez said. "Two of them have shady reputations, and one has likely made some enemies throughout his career."

"The first two were beaten up pretty badly. Whoever did that would have to know how to throw few punches and is probably in good shape." JJ added.

"The thing that seems odd to me is the severity of the beatings seems to be lessening with each kill. Wouldn't the opposite be true in most cases?" Alvez inquired.

"That depends." Rossi replied. "Maybe the beating is just a means to an end. The strangulation could be what this UNSUB is really after. Once he has the victim beaten into submission, then he can get down to what he really wants."

"We'd have to see the autopsies to be certain, but the first two look young and relatively fit; where the third is considerably older and out of shape. Maybe he was easier to subdue." Reid added.

"Or maybe the beating is proportionate to the severity of whatever perceived offense – real or imagined – the UNSUB is retaliating against." A voice from the entrance to the room chimed in. Reid, Alvez, JJ, and Garcia all looked up towards the entrance to see former SSA Derek Morgan standing there. "Attacks like these have got to be about something personal; this UNSUB was pissed off at these victims."

"Hot Chocolate" Garcia stammered out in near ecstasy. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. When Derek was a full tie team member at the BAU, he and Garcia had developed quite the 'fakes romance' relationship in their banter; but she had always considered Derek her best male friend. Things always seemed better when he was around.

"Hi, Baby-Girl," Derek replied, grinning.

"We're a little short staffed," Rossi said. "So I pulled a few strings and called up our former teammate to help us out."

Derek stepped into the room and took a seat at the table. The team all greeted each other briefly.

"Morgan does have a point," Reid said. "Even if strangulation is what the UNSUB is after, then he could consider the beating an extra bonus and then he deals it out in proportion to the degree he's angered by each individual victim."

"It's kind of like icing on a cupcake." JJ commented.

"Please!" Garcia interjected, even before Reid could begin to puzzle over the analogy, which had clearly confounded his overly practical way of analyzing the world. "No besmirching the tasty goodness of pastry deserts with creepy smashy-choky creepiness!"

"Alright, baby-girl," Morgan said consolingly. "So other than gender, what do these victims have in common? If the attacks are personal, where do these people paths cross? Something had to set this guy off."

"Garcia, you can cross reference the known acquaintances and business dealings of all three; go back as far as three years. The rest of us have a long flight ahead of us; we're going to San Bernardino." Rossi said.

 _San Bernardino_

He felt good; Prettymouth had a great jam session, the gear was all packed and ready to go, and Shelley was looking as fabulous as ever. He was home now; tour launch was the day after tomorrow. Home was a cozy one bedroom apartment in a halfway decent neighborhood. The walls were covered in pinups and posters of Prettymouth; most of the images featuring Shelley. His prized pieces of his collection, though, were placed carefully on a foamy bust; one was a replica of the mask she used in the video of their song "Crush". Placed just as carefully on the bust was his other favorite: the hat she tossed him at the concert where their connection was really made in the first place. He gently ran his finger along the brim of the hat and then his palm along the face of the mask which was shaped to Shelley's face – molded exactly to her perfect features, in fact. He sometimes wished he had a wig to match her blazing, storm swept hair, but one couldn't have everything. Besides, he already had her. This mask and hat on a bust was just a stand in.

He smiled. He went to his desktop computer and hit the play button on his video downloads which he kept on his desktop. The video to their song came up and turned up the volume as the song began to play.

Then someone was banging on the door. He looked at the clock beside the bust. It was late, but not too late for anyone to complain about noise. He turned down the volume and went to the front door and opened it to see a slim and petite Latina woman standing there. It was Bernadette, his ex-girlfriend from what seemed like ages ago.

"What do you want?" He asked sharply.

"Have you found my stuff yet?" Bernadette asked back just as sharply. Their courtship did not end well; she didn't like the fact he dumped her for Shelley.

The fact was he did find all her stuff and had it in a plastic bag right beside the door. He picked it up and thrust it towards her. "You could've called first." He said to her as she took it.

"You should check your messages more often, Bobby." She was saying as he shut the door on her.

 _"Who was that?"_ She asked, standing at the threshold of the bedroom. The tone in her voice suggested she was suspicious; she didn't need to be.

"How did you get in? I thought you were still at the studio."

 _"Don't change the subject."_ She replied. _"But to answer your question, you gave me a key, remember? Now answer mine. Who was that?"_

"That was nobody." He said, and then added, "That was Bernadette Mendez. I told you about her; we went out a long time ago, before we met. She left some of her crap here and wanted it back, that's all."

She pouted in that way he couldn't resist. _"Are you going back to her?"_ She asked with a faint whimper in her voice.

"No way, no day," he said emphatically. "Come on Shelley; you know you're the only one I care about."

 _"Prove it."_ She insisted. _"I want there to be nothing and nobody between us."_

Bobby brushed past her into the room and went straight for the chest at the foot of his bed. He opened it and gazed for a moment at the collection of 'Crush' masks he had inside. After putting on double layers of vinyl food grade disposable gloves, he took one out. Then he went into the kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels. After that, he headed out the front door. Bernadette was long gone; probably headed home. That was where he was going, too.

"Come on then" he said. "I'll show you that I will never let that happen."


	2. Chapter 2

_On the Jet_

There was no denying that Derek loved his new life with his wife and son; he did not regret stepping down from the BAU at all. Still, he had to admit he did sort of miss the old team. JJ and Reid were there all through his career and even now he felt like both of them were family; like siblings. He even gave his son the middle name Spencer after Reid. Then there was the legendary David Rossi. He came out of retirement after Gideon burnt out. Derek had his doubts about Rossi at first, but those doubts were quickly laid to rest. Now Dave was very much like the patriarch of the BAU family. He never really worked with this Alvez guy, but he had a hunch that he was pretty solid. It was just too bad that Prentiss was out for the time being, and that Hotch was clearly not coming back.

Rossi and JJ were looking over the case files and Reid was staring blankly out the window. That seemed odd to Morgan; it was possible that Reid had already read through the file and had it all memorized, but that wasn't what seemed off. It didn't seem right for the BAU's resident living computer to be so... detached.

"Hey, Reid" Alvez called just before Derek could. "Are you with us?"

"Yeah, I'm here." Reid replied. "I was just thinking about that Copycat case in Miami."

"I hear you," Alvez nodded. "I hate to say it, but after Elway damn near took Prentiss out, I don't feel too bad about what Quinn did to him."

Derek, for the first time, felt like he was behind the curve. He knew that Prentiss was shot by an UnSub in Florida- that was probably this Elway guy – but who was Quinn and what did he do? Meanwhile, JJ and Rossi looked up from their papers.

"Jacob Elway tried to shoot Sergeant Quinn too, so the force used to subdue Elway was deemed necessary." Reid answered. "The fact that Elway died in hospital from Cardiac arrest as result to stress from his injuries isn't what's bothering me."

"What's bugging you, kid?" Derek asked, sure he was caught up now.

"It's not even really the Copycat at all," Reid said. "It's actually more the original Bay Harbor Butcher case that concerns me."

"You mean Frank Lundy's last official case?" Morgan asked for confirmation.

"That's the one." Alvez said. "I don't get it, Spencerpedia. What about James Doakes is getting you worked up?"

Now Derek knew what they talking about; years ago, SSA Frank Lundy – one of the 'big three', the other two being Rossi and Gideon, went down to Miami after a bunch of body parts were discovered by treasure hunters. That turned into the Bay Harbor Butcher case; one of the most prolific serial killing cases in history. The Bay Harbor Butcher was a serial killer that targeted other criminals: rapists, pedophiles, and murderers. His estimated count was no less than forty, and that was just the body parts that they found. Lundy worked up a Profile, and then the evidence came to the conclusion that the Butcher was Sergeant James Doakes of the Miami Metro Police – Homicide Division.

"What bothers me is this." Reid replied. "While the evidence does point to Doakes, he doesn't quite fit the profile; even Lundy said so in his reports. In fact, the very fact that so much evidence was found leading to Doakes doesn't add up. Doakes was a Homicide detective. If anyone would know how to cover his tracks, it would be him. Now it is possible that Doakes started to devolve quickly once the bodies were discovered; in fact all records seem to indicate he grew steadily and rapidly more and more excitable during the case, but..."

"Well there you go, then." Derek said. "He cracked under the pressure and started making mistakes. If I remember correctly he had some kind of military background, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Maybe when the heat came on some kind of Post Traumatic Syndrome kicked in and he unraveled. Or maybe Lundy didn't get the Profile quite right. Behavioural Science isn't exact; you know that." Derek said.

"Maybe, but then how is it that key evidence that connected Doakes to the Butcher killings turned up at a crime scene long after Doakes was dead?" Reid countered.

"What evidence is that?" Alvez asked.

"During the Original Butcher Case, a set of blood slides with a sample of each victim's blood was found in Doakes's personal effects. Then, years later, another blood slide was found at a scene associated with the death of Travis Marshall. Test confirmed the blood on the slide was that of Travis Marshall, dubbed the Doomsday Killer. Marshall was the serial killer in Miami who killed his victims and placed them in tableaus depicting various scenes in the book of Revelation. It was apparently his goal to bring about the apocalypse to end the reign of the wicked so that the righteous may rule once again. So my question is this; how did a Doakes trophy end up at the scene matching the blood of a killer long after Doakes died?"

"As fascinating as all this is," Rossi interrupted, "I think it's a discussion for another day. Maybe right now we should be focusing on the case we have in front of us." He pointed at the computer screen, where Garcia was waiting. "Garcia, what do you have for us?"

Transmitting from her little room of screens, Garcia spoke through the monitor on the jet:

"Before I bedazzle you with all the oracle has discovered at Penelope speed, I come to you bearing some tragic news. Unfortunately Sherriff Ricardo Mendez will not be greeting you when you land as he has had to remove himself from the investigation following the discovery of a fourth victim this morning." The image on the screen changed to that of a scene showing a Latina woman of approximately 25 years old, badly bruised and quite evidently dead. "This is Bernadette Mendez, aged 25, as she was found this morning. Deputy Michael Harris has kept the scene untouched awaiting your arrival. Medical Examiners on the scene indicate she was beaten and strangled."

"Well it certainly looks like our UnSub." Rossi said.

"I have to hand it to the Sherriff." Derek said. "If anyone did anything like that to my boy, professional interests would be out the window."

"At first instinct I would agree," JJ added. "But it could be he's prioritizing his responsibilities as a family man ahead of his duties as a cop. Besides, we all know all too well what happens if a cop is too close to an investigation."

"So now we see this UnSub isn't particular to race, age, or gender." Rossi interjected, focusing the team on the actual case. "Garcia, would I be right if I guessed your magic has found something that does link these victims?"

"Indeed you would." Garcia grinned. "Here comes the part where I amaze you all; today I will bypass all the jargon and just get to the details. Although I found no direct connections amongst any of the victims, I did discover the first three all had one common factor in their lives. That would be the up and coming band Prettymouth, based in; you guessed it, San Berdoo. The band, headed by femme fatale Shelley Mason, was a popular bar band up until about three years ago when their debut album soared to the top of the charts –at least on the indie scene – and their tours across the country sold out medium sized venues across the board. They have just released their sophomore album, which followed a live EP, and our third victim Jeff MacIver wrote an absolutely scathing review of said album, calling it a producer's pet project and proclaiming the band as an overrated celebration of mediocrity with a vocalist that is easy on the eyes but painful to the ears. As it turns out Shelley Mason was the most recent target of photographer Dylan Fox's more adult collection, and I'll let you guess who it was that pressed charges against our first victim Sean Dryer."

"Shelley Mason," Reid said, clearly missing that Garcia was being rhetorical.

"Pin the gold star on the boy genius." Garcia said, graciously enough.

"Okay," Alvez said, "three of the four victims ran afoul of this band. So far the severity of the beating fits with the theory that it is relative to degree of the offense. How does the last victim fit?"

"That's where things get a little bit tricky, Newbie." Garcia replied. "She doesn't seem to have connection to the band for good or for ill, but on all four scenes this..." the screen changed to four ways split screen split showing a mask; the same mask. "Was found positioned in a manner that would seem as if the mask was looking over the victim. Now before you ask, I already checked to see and yes, the mask is indeed in the likeness of the one and only Shelley Mason. The mask was featured prominently in a video for their latest single called 'Crush' and replicas of the mask can be found in music stores, gift and novelty shops, and even some department stores across the country. As I'm sure you can already guess, this creep is smart enough to make sure there were no prints or DNA on the any of the masks."

"We have his signature." Derek announced. "The UnSub is sending a message; maybe it's don't mess with Shelley?"

"I think it may be more than that." Rossi commented. "I think this might be the UnSub's way of showing her what he's done for her."

"That's kind of creepy." JJ chimed in.

"To us, maybe; but to him he's probably showing her how far he's willing to go to protect her." Rossi said. "This is a romantic gesture in his mind."

"It's like he's saying that he loves her so much he's even willing to kill for her." Reid said.

"But where does Mendez fit in?" Alvez asked. "Garcia, was there any signs of sexual assault?"

"It's too early to say for sure; we'll have to wait for the autopsy, but since she was found fully clothed the department thinks that it's unlikely." Garcia replied.

"It could be he heard her say something about Mason he didn't like," JJ suggested. "Sometimes girls can get pretty vicious towards each other."

"On the other hand, "Alvez countered, "apart from being beaten black and blue, Mendez is quite attractive; maybe he was attracted to her and then did this to her to prove his fidelity."

"Either way, it looks like we're looking at a case of erotomania." Reid said. "Our UnSub has fixated on Shelley Mason and has likely convinced himself she's also in love with him."

"Before we put together a profile," Rossi interjected calmly, "let's make sure we have all the details. When we land, Morgan and Alvez will go to the latest crime scene, Reid, you go to the Medical Examiners and take a look at the first three victims, and JJ and I will pay a little visit to Shelley Mason and her band."

Derek glanced over at Alvez and gave him a curt nod. Apparently he was going to get his chance to work with the new guy. Seeing as Luke Alvez was the permanent team member now, Derek thought he'd let the kid take point on this. Turning his attention back to Dave, he had an idea that the old veteran already knew as well as he did that odds were they were all on the right track; this was some kind of obsessed fan who may or may not have positioned himself close to the object of his desire. He also knew from previous experience that it was just as likely the UnSub's delusion was bound to break, and when it did he was very likely to lash out against the one he may think has betrayed him.


	3. Chapter 3

The Medical Examiner was on route to the latest crime scene, so Dr Spencer Reid rode with Derek and Luke part way until he was dropped off; the Sherriff department arranging for a vehicle to be brought to him there for when he was finished. He was brought to the tables where Jeff MacIver, the most recent victim other than the one that Alvez and Morgan were going to, was waiting. The other two, Dylan Fox and Sean Dryer, were also still on site, but were currently being held in cold storage. Reid would rather they had not been, but he could understand that this was probably a busy place, and they had to do something with them to keep them from spoiling.

The Examiner explained that whoever hit MacIver was either really lucky or knew what he was doing; the blow had shattered the nose in such a manner that a portion of his nasal passage was obstructed.

"So he might have not even needed to strangle the victim." Reid said, looking closely at MacIver's face. "He may have suffocated or possibly drown in his own blood."

"Oh, the cause of death was strangulation," the Examiner replied. "Look; you can see it his eyes, and then there's these bruises on the neck."

The Examiner pulled the sheet down enough to reveal MacIver's neck. Reid first looked at the eyes, which were almost completely red from blood vessels bursting, and then studied the bruises. It was immediately apparent that the UnSub had used his hands based on the shapes of the bruises.

"He used his hands." Spencer noted out loud. "By any chance were there any prints?"

"That was what I was thinking when I first looked, but no such luck; I'm pretty sure this guy had the sense to double layer his gloves to make sure. It's the same thing with the other two; same bruising pattern, no prints." The Examiner said. "Do you think this guy might know a thing or two about forensics? Maybe from doing jail time, or..." he didn't want to say the rest, but Reid knew where he was going with this train of thought.

"Or he may have a background in law enforcement." He finished for the examiner; the gentlest way he could think of. "On the other hand he might just happen to watch a lot of crime drama. Any idea what kind of gloves he used? Was it latex, maybe?"

"I'm glad you asked, actually," the Examiner wandered off to one of the units; the one marked S. Dryer, the first victim. "In this one, I found a little fragment of food-grade vinyl glove trapped between two of his teeth. It's the kind of glove that food handlers use. This is why I think he's probably double layering. I searched the teeth for foreign DNA and came up with nothing."

Reid nodded knowingly. So far this UnSub was appearing to be a mix of both organized and disorganized. He killing on site and leaving the bodies where they drop with no attempt to hide them, but was also organized enough to take a few forensic countermeasures. The mask signature certainly indicated these bodies were meant to be put on display, but that display was probably meant to be exclusive; only Shelley Mason was supposed to know who was doing this, and in his mind she did know. Of that Reid had no doubt. He also knew that the kind of gloves used were pretty easy to come by; they would be available in any place that caters to food handlers. You could probably buy them wholesale at Costco.

"What about the second victim? Did you find vinyl strands on him?" He asked.

The Examiner raised a finger. "Aha," he said, opening a drawer and pulling Dylan Fox out of storage. "It would seem that our friend learned something. See how the blows that would be his fists are all focused on the torso and the blows to the head look like they were his forearms and elbows. I did find tiny bits of leather in his teeth, though; maybe from the sleeve of a jacket."

"And by the time he got to MacIver, he was able to subdue his target with a single blow." Dr Reid commented. The Examiner was right; this UnSub was exhibiting a learning curve. It was possible that the first victim was a crime of passion; maybe he wasn't planning on killing anybody then, but just got carried away. The problem was then he found he liked the feeling of a life passing through his fingers. "Do you mind if I wait here and observe the examination of Mendez when she gets here?" He asked.

"Be my guest." The Examiner shrugged. Reid thanked him and stepped out of the room to call JJ.

When Derek Morgan and Luke Alvez got to the Mendez crime scene, they were greeted by Deputy Michael Harris, a handsome, sturdy looking woman with short-cropped brown hair and sharp hazel eyes. Both agents were a little surprised to find Harris was a woman; given her name. Though they both tried to show the professional courtesy of not showing their surprise, Harris smiled wanly and assured them she was used to people assuming she would be man until they met her; growing up with the name Michael made it a fact of her life. She showed them into the small bungalow type house and into the front room where Bernadette Mendez lay sprawled across the floor atop a throw rug. The Shelley Mason Crush mask set on a nearby coffee table, propped up against a vase with a bouquet of snapdragons in it. The way it was set, it kind of looked like the flowers were sprouting from the top of the mask.

"I guess you guys see stuff like this all the time." Harris said.

"It's come up," Derek confirmed. "It doesn't make it any easier to look at, though."

Alvez pointed at the mask. "That's a little unusual." He said. "Usually this kind of thing is about a guy suspecting the woman is cheating or something."

Derek looked closely at the victim. She was fully clothed, just like Garcia said. Most of the bruises on her head and face did not look like they came from fists; more like elbows and forearms, all except maybe the one directly under her chin; that could have been a solid uppercut. The really upsetting part was her neck; it wasn't just bruised, it was crushed. This killing was personal; maybe even more personal than the other three.

"Was there any sign of forced entry?" Derek asked.

Harris shook her head. "None, but we did find a hide-a-key under the mat on the porch in the back. We tried it in the sliding glass door; it worked." She said. "Our guess is this creep used it to get in and either caught her by surprise or was laying in wait."

"That makes sense." Alvez concurred, looking around. "Some things look out of place, but not enough to suggest a botched burglary; more like a struggle."

"That's what we thought." Harris agreed.

"It looks like our UnSub got what he came for here." Derek said. "My bet is that he knew her, and that's how he knew about the key."

"You don't think he staked her out?" Harris asked.

"This doesn't feel like a stalker." Alvez said. "If he staked her out, there would almost certainly be more evidence of a sexual assault." He glanced at the body. "Morgan, what's that under her fingernails? Is that dirt?"

Derek looked at her fingernails; they were black on the underside, as if she had been scratching at something. He thought it could be from clawing to get away, but the place looked immaculate. One thing to be said about Bernadette Mendez, she was no slob; if anything, she was a clean freak. He said they would have to wait for the Medical Examiner to find out for sure. He had no doubt Reid would catch it and if there was a match to anything else he'd find it.

Jennifer Jareau answered her phone just as she and Rossi arrived at Rock Block Studios. It was Spence calling to discuss what he found at the ME so far. Even as they were talking, Rossi received a call as well. She thanked Spence for the update and disconnected her phone. Soon Rossi finished his call, disconnected, and joined JJ.

"That was Morgan." He said. "He said that we'll have to wait for the ME to confirm, but it looked like the Mendez slaying was especially personal. It seems like the UnSub may have known her. Police found a key hidden under the mat; they think that's how he got in."

"Spence wants to stay at the ME for the examination on Mendez." JJ replied. "Besides that, the UnSub seems to be learning with each kill; fragments of food handler's gloves were found in the first victim's teeth, and what appear to be tiny pieces of leather on the second. He also thinks that the first killing might not have been entirely intentional. Maybe he only went to go rough Dryer up and got carried away.

"He wore the gloves so there'd be no way a scumbag like Dryer could prove anything. Cops would assume he got in fight with a druggie or something." Rossi acknowledged. "But then he went a little farther than he planned. It fits."

"Spence also figures maybe he experienced a thrill when Dryer's life slipped through his fingers. After that, killing became the best way to protect the object of his affection." JJ said as the both of them went into the studio.

The reception room of the studio building was basically what JJ expected; very professional looking. The front desk was placed towards the back of the room, centered precisely so that the room's dimensions were equal left and right. There was a small love seat at the front of the room near the doors. It had a laminate floor designed to have the illusion of hard wood, and a high ceiling; most likely trap the heat up high in the summer. The room was decorated with plastic plants and a number of posters; presumably of bands that had used their facilities. Most of them were bands neither JJ nor Rossi had ever heard of, probably a little after her own time and well after Rossi's. Most people actually form their personal tastes in music at around age 14; that's when they start seriously making their own selections rather than just listening to whatever their parents put on, according to Spence. Among the bands featured were Prettymouth, the group they were here to talk to, and another group that called themselves Naked Fire, which looked to JJ like a trio of Pagans; two women and a man. At the front desk, a Hispanic male was seated in front of a computer where he was clicking away on the mouse. She and Rossi approached the desk.

"Excuse me," Rossi said, making the receptionist jump. Up close they could see he was playing solitaire. Both of them showed their badges. "I'm SSA David Rossi, and this is SSA Jennifer Jareau. We're with the FBI." The receptionist looked suddenly apprehensive, nervous even. It was possible he was in the country illegally. "Don't worry, we're not here for you, and we're not here looking for illegals. We just want to talk to the members of a group that operate out of your establishment. Can you tell us if the group Prettymouth is on the premises?"

A look of overwhelming relief washed over the receptionist's face. "Sure they are." He replied, pointing towards the hallway behind him and to his right. "If they're not in the green room, then they should be at loading dock A packing their stuff for the Indie Fest up in Bakersfield."

Rossi thanked him and they started down the hall. On one side of the hall was a pair of restroom. The other side had an open door which led into what looked like a staff room, and another door which was blocked by a security guard. The hall ended in a "T", which JJ supposed was where the recording rooms and the loading dock access points were at. Her guess was the guard was guarding the Green Room, making sure the band was not disturbed. He was a big guy; clearly quite fit, Caucasian, blonde hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a white knock-off Fedora, which seemed a little odd. He hunched up a little as they approached, and took a position to block their access to the door. This guy obviously took his job much more seriously than the receptionist.

"She doesn't want to be disturbed." The guard said. "They're working out their playlist for the Festival tomorrow. She said no reporters and no interviews."

Up close, JJ saw that his uniform shirt had a patch over the left front pocket that revealed his name was . The name didn't faze her in the least; Garcia was also a Caucasian, but her mother remarried when she was very young. It was probable that Mr. Rodriguez here had a similar story.

"I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is Senior Special Agent David Rossi, and we're with the FBI." She said as she and Dave flashed their badges. Rodriguez scrutinized the badges carefully, as if he could discern if they were the real thing, and then hesitated a moment before knocking on the Green Room door and opening it a crack.

"Hey Shelley," He called into the room. "I've got a couple of Feds out here; FBI."

"FBI you say?" A woman's voice replied. "Well I guess you better let them in, Bobby. It's cool."

Bobby nodded and opened the door the rest of the way to let them pass. The woman suggested Bobby should go and check how the packing is going before the door closed behind them.

JJ looked around to get a good feel of the room. The first thing she noticed was that this green was actually green; the walls, the overstuffed sofa, the matching chairs, the carpet and even the ceiling tiles. There was a darker green door on the east wall; JJ was willing to hazard a guess it led to a bath or a shower room. The wall opposite the entrance was dominated by a huge screen television. On the television an episode of a show called Criminal Behavior was on. The show was basically an amped up series about the BAU; except they called the Behavior Analysis Division, and one of the lead characters played by Lila Archer occasionally made jokes about the anagram. In the episode being shown, the team was closing in on a suspect that was loosely based on Thomas Yates, aka the Womb Raider.

"Can you turn that off, please?" Rossi asked, pointing at the television. One of the four people in the room with them clutched a remote and shut off the TV. The four were three men and a woman. The white man with the short spiky platinum blonde hair was the one who shut off the television. Then there was a Hispanic man, a little older than the others, then a black man with dreadlocks. Finally, the woman was nothing if not striking. Her red hair rocked what was sometimes called a 'bed head'.

Rossi looked at her. "You're Shelley Mason?" He asked, obviously as a formality.

"That's me," Shelley confirmed. "And that's Chad, Pedro, and Mike." She added, pointing to the black man, the Hispanic, and the white guy respectively.

"I'm Pedro Rocha," Pedro leaned forward, extending his hand first to Rossi, then to JJ; each of them taking it. "Co-owner of Rock Block Studios, Producer and Bassist for Prettymouth; do you mind telling us what this is about?"

They both flashed their badges. "I'm SSA David Rossi of the FBI. This is SSA Jennifer Jareau. We'd like to ask you all a few questions. Pedro, you said Co-owner. Where's your partner?"

"That would be me," Mike, the white guy chimed in. "I'm Michael Bloch."

"Good; now we know who's in the room." Rossi nodded, satisfied. "All of you; does the name Jeff MacIver mean anything to any of you?"

"Well sure it does." Chad said. "He's that freelance music critic. He trashed our latest album awhile back. What about it?"

"How about the names Dylan Fox and Sean Dryer; do they ring any bells?" Rossi asked next.

"Fox is the slime ball photographer that took those unauthorized nude photos," Shelley replied. "And Dryer is the creep with a crush."

"I beg your pardon?" JJ interjected.

"He groped me shortly after the Crush single came out." Shelley replied. "Crush was inspired by this creepy fan letter I got this one time. I even paraphrased some of the content of the letter into the lyrics. I pressed charges. If this is about him trying to set up some kind of countersuit, you're wasting your time. I have about a thousand witnesses and God knows how many saw it live on television."

"If anybody deserves a shot to the head, it's that jagoff." Chad said.

"It's funny you should say that," Rossi retorted. "But not in the amusing way."

Chad stiffened up, like he was getting ready for a confrontation. Shelley put a hand up towards him; clearly indicating that it would be a bad idea to get in the face of a Federal Agent.

"What is this about, Agents?" She asked.

"Sean Dryer, Dylan Fox, and Jeff MacIver have all been found dead within the past month or so," JJ explained. "All severely beaten and strangled to death." She let that fact settle among the four of them for a moment, gauging their responses. "Evidence at all three scenes suggested that it may have had something to do with you."

"Not only that, but just this morning a similar murder was discovered not far from here; a Bernadette Mendez." Rossi added. "She just so happened to be the daughter of Sherriff Mendez. You wouldn't happen to have any thoughts or feelings you'd like to express about that one, would you, Chad?"

Shelley blinked, genuinely shocked at this news. Mike and Pedro glanced at each other, but nothing in there expressions suggested any complicity or guilt in JJ's estimation; it looked more like they were thinking about how it might look to the press for their company. Chad backpedalled hard.

"Hey, man," he said. "I didn't know that. I was just blowing smoke when I said that."

"For your sake, I hope so." Rossi said.

"Hold on a second." Mike spoke up. "Other than the fact that all three of these guys can be associated with us in a negative way, what evidence are we talking about here?" To the others, that may have sounded like a stupid question, but both JJ and Rossi knew it was actually a good one; Mike was asking about hard evidence that linked any of them to the actual crimes. What they had was the mask, but that wasn't even really evidence; not that it mattered much since Prettymouth themselves weren't really suspects yet.

"A replica of that mask you used in your video was found placed at each scene" Rossi answered.

"We should be clear as to why we're here." JJ jumped in. "We're with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and the victimology suggests a pattern of behavior which leads us to believe our UnSub might have a fixation with your band – with Shelley specifically; quite possibly the song the mask represents serves as his motivation."

"We'd like to interview each of you and your staff individually to find out if any of you know anything that might help us narrow down who this guy is and get ahead of him before anybody else pisses him off and gets killed." Rossi said.

"This is just like Criminal Behavior." Shelley commented, smirking a little.

"Wait a second!" Chad exclaimed. "How long is that going to take? We have to be on the road today if we're going to make it to Bakersfield in time for the festival!"

"I'd recommend you hold off on that," Rossi said. "Chances are good he'll follow you there, and that kind of environment would make it easier for him to hide and it would give him more potential targets."

"If that's true, then he must know we're supposed to go to the festival. If we don't, won't he either know you're on to him, or worse; won't he start thinking that maybe I'm letting him down? Wouldn't that make me a target?" Shelley asked. JJ was starting to like this girl; she made a good point and had picked up on the idea that the UnSub was probably delusional and thinking they were in a relationship. She was also aware that when he began to perceive their relation was turning sour he was likely to go after her. Maybe that ridiculous show wasn't so ridiculous after all. Rossi countered that argument by saying that if they stayed put, then at least she'd be easier to insulate.

JJ watched as Shelley's mind began to work; her eyes closed slightly as she processed the scenario.

"Pedro, the Festival goes from Friday to Sunday, right?" Pedro confirmed this was so. "We're scheduled to be the last act on Sunday, right? So how about we show up sometime Saturday? That will give these agents some time to do their thing."

"But everyone's expecting us to show up Friday like everyone else!" Chad objected.

"So we make it a publicity play." Shelley countered. "We release Fashionably Late as new single, then show up fashionably late."

Chad opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and snapped his mouth shut again.

Pedro nodded appreciatively. "That could work out okay." He said agreeably. Turning to Rossi, he said "Does that suit you, Agent Rossi? If you say yes, I can start making some calls."

"I don't like it." Mike said. "If there's really that much of a risk, maybe we should back out. We can play it like any one of had a minor run in with the police and got held up."

"We're not backing out, Mike." Shelley insisted. "If and more likely when the Press get wind of this, it'll be better for us all if we show up anyway. I'm not letting some obsessed psycho freak keep me from doing what I love."

"Fine" Mike and Rossi both said together. Pedro stepped away from the rest of the group, producing a phone. Chad let out a heavy sigh. Mike also stepped away, producing a phone. Shelley took a seat on the green couch.

"JJ, call Garcia and tell her to give Bakersfield a heads up that we're coming to them. I'll call Alvez, Morgan and Reid to fill them in. I'll send Alvez ahead to Bakersfield to set up there, and have Morgan join Reid at the ME. When they're done there, we'll need them here to help with the interviews."

The situation wasn't ideal, but it would have to be good enough. JJ dialed up Garcia.


	4. Chapter 4

_Quantico_

If there was one word to describe the level of activity that Penelope Garcia at the moment, that word would be busy. First, per JJ's request, she called up the Sheriff's office in Bakersfield to advise them to expect Alvez and that this was regarding the likelihood of a suspected serial killer making an appearance at the upcoming indie music festival. Next she began working up an association list for her Brown Sugar Derek Morgan in regards to Bernadette Mendez, and cross referencing that with any and all known associates and personal histories of the band Prettymouth; although she was actually ahead of the team on that front. Finally, Dr. Reid called.

"Font of all knowledge, ask and you shall receive, Boy Wonder." She greeted.

"You're about to receive a toxicology report on all the victims." Reid announced. "I'm headed to the Precinct with Deputy Harris to set up there, work up a geographic profile and speak with the Sherriff in regards to his daughter."

"You're not staying at the studio to interview them?" Garcia asked, although she could already guess why.

"Rossi, JJ, and Morgan can handle that." Reid replied. "Even though the UnSub is probably going to Bakersfield, he almost certainly lives and works in San Bernardino. By looking at the murder sites I can narrow down the field of his comfort zone and isolate where he most likely lives or works. But that's not what I'm calling about."

"You have something else bouncing around in that big and beautiful brain of yours." Garcia said. "Tell me what's on your mind, San Berdoo."

"I want you to track down a Toxicology report on Jacob Elway." Reid answered.

That was not what Garcia was expecting at all. "Wasn't he the Bay Harbor Copycat?" She asked. "I thought he died from a heart attack as a result of strain from his injuries."

"That's the official story, but when I asked for Toxicology on these victims it occurred to me that Elway's mission was to lure Hannah McKay out of hiding. McKay's MO was most typically poison, specifically Aconite; also commonly called Wolfsbane or Monkshood. With the correct dosage, administration of Aconite causes a heart attack; the idea was that Hannah figured her victims wouldn't be found until long after the substance worked its way out their system even if Medical Examiners bothered to look for it after determining the cause of death was heart attack."

"Are you thinking that Elway actually succeeded in luring her out or something?" Garcia asked. "Or, well, sort of, anyway; that maybe she stayed hidden until she was sure she could get to him and solve her Elway problem once and for all?"

"It's possible." Reid concurred. "The Profile on Hannah McKay suggests she a survivalist; the victimology of her killings tells us that she kills out of necessity rather than pleasure. All of her victims at some point presented a direct threat to either her or someone close to her. Since Jacob Elway was hunting her, which made him a threat that had to be removed permanently."

To Garcia, that actually made a lot of sense. She had to hand it the Doctor; he was really good. There was one element that never really made any sense to her about that case, though; why did Elway think that copying the Bay Harbor Butcher would draw Hannah in? She was about to ask BAU's resident field genius, but then figured if he hadn't already considered that, it was probably one of those things that only had to make sense to Elway. Still, what if Elway knew something about the original Butcher and his relation to Hannah that they didn't? Regardless of her thoughts, she told Reid she would see what she could find and get back to him ASAP. Reid thanked her and disconnected.

 _San Bernardino_

Dr. Spencer Reid had, in fact, taken into account the unusual choice of the Bay Harbor Butcher that Elway made in his attempt to lure Hannah out of hiding. James Doakes was long dead before she was even considered a suspect in the Miami Dade region. Why would Elway think his case would have anything to do with her? The only answer Reid could come up with was that Doakes wasn't the original Butcher, and somehow Elway knew that; he was a talented Private Investigator and former Police Detective, so that was entirely possible. Maybe LaGuerta was right; maybe Doakes was framed. According to the last of her files, her Prime Suspect was former Blood Spatter analyst Dexter Morgan, who was also mentioned in Lundy's notes. During the original investigation, Doakes was also looking at Dexter. Given what was known about the life of Dexter Morgan, it was entirely possible that he would be able to manipulate evidence to set up a frame like that. There was another factor to consider; in addition to escaping custody right before Hurricane Laura hit Miami, Hannah McKay was also believed to have abducted Harrison Morgan, Dexter's son. This begged one question: Why wasn't Dexter looking for them after he faked his own death? It could be that he believed both of them were dead, or it could be that he knew his son was safe with her. Since it was known that Dexter and Hannah had a relationship at one point, it seemed more likely the latter was the case.

But all of that would just have to wait. He was on a different case right now, and that would require his attention. By the time he got to the precinct, the conference room was already set up with what he needed; there was a map set up with all four murders plotted on their precise locations where the bodies were found. Since there was no indication that the bodies were moved, those locations were almost certainly the scenes of the actual crimes; that was helpful, it meant that he could get a better idea of where their UnSub either lived or worked based on his area of operation.

Looking at a physical representation of the locations, Reid was a little bit surprised to see how simple this task would be. With the exception of MacIver, the locations made an almost perfect square; just by looking at the map, he could see that Rock Block Studios was almost dead center of that square. The studio was in an industrial zone, so the UnSub most likely worked either at or near the studio. As far as MacIver was concerned, preliminary reports indicated he was seen at the Prettymouth concert at Glen Helen Amphitheatre. It was probable that the UnSub was also at the concert and followed Jeff home. Even if he removed MacIver's house from the profile, the studio was within the triangulation. The other odd scene out was Mendez because she had no apparent connection to Shelley or the band at all; but removing her scene and keeping MacIver's yielded similar results. Either way, it seemed likely that the UnSub worked at or near Rock Block.

"Excuse me, Dr. Reid?" Deputy Harris called into the room from behind him. "Sherriff Mendez just arrived. He's waiting for you in his office."

"Thank you." Reid replied. He stepped back from the map and let the deputy lead him to the Sherriff's office.

The interviews at the studio didn't yield much that really of any use. The guy at the front desk was pretty much completely clueless, and the demeanor of the swampers packing up the band's gear in the back lead David Rossi to believe they had nothing to do with these murders. That basically left the band itself and maybe that security guard. On the way to the Precinct, it was those people that Morgan, JJ, and Rossi were talking about.

Rossi talked to Pedro Rocha; the guy was all business. Sure he was concerned about the murders themselves, but it was obvious he was even more concerned about his assets and how the connection between the band and these crimes might affect his business. A couple of his mannerisms suggested to Rossi that he might be just the type of guy to try to spin things to turn it into a kind of notoriety; make it out to look as if this makes his recording company is edgy and fearless. Probably work it out with the press to make Shelley and Prettymouth to look the same way. Would he commit these kinds of crimes in order to set up that kind of publicity? Rossi didn't think so. They'd have to look at his record to know for sure, but Rossi was willing to bet Pedro Rocha was clean; certainly nothing violent.

"What do you make of Shelley Mason and Michael Bloch?" He asked JJ.

"Shelley is smart, confident, socially adept and creative." JJ answered. I don't want to say she's taking these murders lightly, and she certainly understands the danger she's potentially in, but part of her is also excited by it all; to her it's like living in an episode of Criminal Behavior."

"Let's just hope she realizes this is no TV show." Morgan said.

"She did also agree to provide us with the fan letter that she based song off of. She held on to it, and was ready to present it as evidence against Sean Dryer. She originally thought he wrote it. I was thinking Reid could analyse it; get an idea of pathology of our UnSub, presuming the UnSub wrote it."

"If he did, then I'm sure he was delighted to hear the song it inspired." Rossi commented. "He probably thinks of it as their song. It's like some kind of love ballad that belongs just to them."

"What about Michael?" Morgan asked.

"He's the Reid of their group." JJ replied. "He's exceptionally bright, socially awkward, apparently has many practical talents, and he even has a tendency to over inform on minutia of detail. He says he and Shelley have known each other their whole lives. It was pretty clear to me in the way he acted whenever she came up in our interview that he's been infatuated with her for a long time. He's even all in favor of cancelling out on the festival it means keeping her safe."

"That's not the case with my man Chad Marten." Derek said. "I can tell you this; that is one pissed off dude. I don't think he wants to see anyone get hurt, but man, the fact they're delaying their trip is crawling up his butt something fierce." He drummed the palms of his hands on the head board in front of him to demonstrate "He took to drumming his hands to let go of some of that aggressive energy."

"He probably uses drumming as a cathartic outlet." Rossi commented. "Is there any relationship beyond the professional one between him and Shelley?"

Derek shook his head no. "He's just about as independent as he can get. He's on a contract. According to him, Shelley Mason is Prettymouth."

That caught Dave's interest. If this Chad Marten is a contract drummer, why does he care so much about the schedule? More importantly, why is he so pissed off at the delay? Could it be that it screws with some kind of personal agenda? On the other hand, this Mike character does already fit few of the classic traits of a classic erotomaniac. Maybe he believes this friendship and infatuation is more than that. Then again, the guy who did the killing would have to be physically strong to do what he does; Mike Bloch looks like Reid could beat the tar out him. Not only that, but police reports on MacIver's estimated time of death provide both Mike and Chad pretty solid alibis; they were either on stage doing an encore, or wrapping up the same show.

"And that leaves the last guy we talked to at the studio." Rossi said finally. "Let me tell you a little bit about Robert 'Bobby' Rodriguez."

"Is that the big white guy with the Fedora knock-off?" Morgan asked.

"That's the one." David Rossi confirmed. "He's a security guard; made a specific request to be on the Rock Block detail, even more specifically for Prettymouth. I think it should go without saying, but he's a big fan of the band; he seems to know everything about them, especially Shelley. For the record, Morgan, his concept of the band matches that of your guy Chad. I noticed that any time anything about the band came up, he deferred all references to Shelley herself. I would be remiss if I neglected to add I have no doubt this guy cleans up on Trivial Pursuit; especially in entertainment categories. His lingo is chock full of pop-culture references; like he's trying to seem more cool and hip than he really is."

"So, what are we talking about here?" Derek asked. "Does this guy think of himself as Shelley's personal bodyguard?"

"Maybe it's more than that." JJ commented. "It could be he thinks it's his job as a man to protect his woman's integrity as well as her body."

Dave considered that possibility. "He does have the size that suggests he'd be capable of doing a lot of damage." He agreed. "Thing is; he came off as being even tempered- especially when it came to his job."

"That could be a part of his cover." Derek countered. "We all know that sociopaths are very talented at blending in and concealing what's really going on in their heads."

"Not only that," JJ added, "he probably realizes that a certain degree o professionalism is required if wants to keep his job which keeps him close to Shelley."

"Alright," Dave concurred. "Morgan, call Garcia. Get her to look into the backgrounds of Chad, Mike, and Bobby. I don't think Mike is our guy, but I want to be sure. Also, get her to look into Rigel Nordstrom."

Derek raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Who's that?"

"He's the singer and percussionist of another band that records out of Rock Block." Rossi answered. "A band called Naked Fire; according to Bobby, the internet is all a buzz about a torrid affair Rigel and Shelley are having. He also says it's bogus; a gag that both singers let run as a joke."

"You think maybe this Nordstrom guy might be taking the gag more seriously than he lets on?"

"It's possible." Rossi said. "After all, Bobby has an alibi for the MacIver case; he was working at the theatre. Where was Nordstrom?"

Derek grunted assent to the point and dialed Garcia on his phone, putting it on speaker.

"Welcome to the cyber-land of all information; this is your tour guide Penelope Garcia, can I help you?" Garcia answered with her signature good cheer.

"I need you to work some of your magic for me, baby-girl." Derek shot back; it was as if he hadn't missed a beat, Rossi observed.

"Anything for you, Brown Sugar" Garcia replied.

"Whoa, pump the brakes there, sweetheart," Derek said, laughing lightly. "I'm a married man."

"Oh, don't worry, lover; what your wife doesn't know can't hurt me."

"Hey, let's keep it PG; I got you on speakerphone."

"I charge extra for groups."

"Alright, baby-girl, serious talk now." Derek insisted, gently but with good nature. "We got four names we need you to look into the backgrounds of: Chad Marten, Michael Bloch, Robert Rodriguez, and Rigel Nordstrom. Did you get all that?"

"Oh, sugar! Have you been gone so long that you've forgotten who you're talking to?" Garcia asked, pretending to be wounded.

"I could never forget you, baby-girl." Derek replied. "You're impossible to forget."

"You only say that because it's true." Garcia said. "I'll have more on your names in a blink, but I can give you this on Rigel Nordstrom right now: He's the lead vocals and percussionist with a band based out of Vancouver, British Columbia called Naked Fire, though he himself grew up in a group home in Winnipeg, Manitoba under the full name Rigel Terrence Nordstrom. Also, there is an online trend debating the validity of the rumors regarding his relationship with Shelley Mason. There's more to come quicker than a hiccough."

"Thanks, Garcia. Derek disconnected the call just as they were pulling in to the precinct.

If there ever was a time that Bobby wanted a hit from a bong, it was after his interview with SSA David Rossi. He gave that stuff up. He had to. That was doctor's orders; ever since... Well, for awhile, now. Instead, he opted to go for a cruise in his car to calm his nerves.

 _"I don't understand what you're so upset about."_ She said, sitting in the passenger seat as he drove.

"Don't you know who that was who was talking to me back there?" He asked a little more crossly than he intended. "That was David Rossi; _the_ David Rossi. Do you know who that is?"

" _Sure I do._ " She replied. _"He's one of the guys that show is based on, and he practically wrote the book on Criminal Profiling. What's the big deal?"_

"The big deal is if he's on the case it's probably just a matter of time before his team susses me out! That's what they do!"

She turned her head and gave him a look somewhere between compassion and contempt. " _You need to relax, sweet."_ She whispered. " _What they do is study behavior; both of those around any given case and the patterns they find and crime scenes. So long as you don't spaz out; play it cool, you'll be fine."_

Bobby nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "Oh, crap!" he exclaimed. "I think I already blew it! Knowing who he was threw me off and I acted like a total geek and started making all kinds of stupid references. I'm screwed!"

She shrugged lightly. " _There's your answer. You know who he is, watch the show, and even read a couple of his books. You're a fan of his work, and it threw you off your game; you geeked out a little."_ She offered.

"Yeah, that should work." Bobby said. Grinning, he turned his car to navigate home to get a little rest before getting ready to travel to the festival; according to Agent Rossi they were still going, and the Feds would be coming along for the ride. That was perfectly ok; all he had to do was cool it for awhile. In fact, he seemed to recall saying something about Rigel in his interview. He didn't really want to throw Rigel under a bus like that, but if it meant staying out of jail and with Shelley, he'd do what he had to do. As for his gaffe with Agent Rossi, he knew just how to cover his own ass on that... 


	5. Chapter 5

_Quantico_

Finding background information on the names the Derek 'Chocolate Ecstasy' Morgan had given her was, for the most part, ridiculously easy for Penelope. None of them were using aliases or even stage names – which struck her as odd and beautiful that anyone would name their child Rigel, but that was a digression – and none of them had anything particularly sealed in any records. She put the team online; both in the precinct at San Bernardino and Alvez in Bakersfield to tell them what she found:

Michael Bloch was the easiest of all. He was the son of a defense attorney Norman Bloch, who made loads of money which in no small amounts went to ensuring his prodigy of a son Michael had the best education possible; not that that was too difficult to do since his brilliant if frail boy had an IQ comparable to Reid's and had graduated high school by the age of 15, and from there went straight into trades and technical institutes where he obtained Masters degrees in Computer Sciences and Business Administration which was then used to augment his attempt at a musical career with Shelley Mason. Using some of his trust fund from dear old dad, he bought part of the then struggling albeit nascent Rock Block Studios from Pedro Rocha seven years ago. Now, at the ripe old age of 27, Michael Bloch has a squeaky clean record without so much as a traffic ticket to his name.

"I remember a lot of drug dealers with records like that from back in my days with the Chicago P.D." Derek commented, with Alvez grunt with agreement.

"Well, yeah, but the kid was very clearly at the theatre during the MacIver killing." Rossi said. "The fact that he has a solid alibi and no record gives us no reason to investigate him. Who's next, Garcia?"

Next on Garcia's list was Rigel Nordstrom, who was the next easiest to gather information on. There was of course the Group home in Winnipeg, the move to Vancouver, all the info based on Naked Fire. School records show he was pretty much always into music, highly intelligent, and as many of his teachers described him, 'slippery'. It seemed that he was often around scenes of trouble throughout school, but could never be actually tied to the cause of the trouble. Police records showed a similar pattern in both cities; therefore he has no record, but is known to authorities.

"He could be an instigator." Alvez said. "He'd be the kind of guy who manipulates those around him to create trouble while he sits back and enjoys the chaos he creates."

"As a result, he wouldn't have a criminal record because he doesn't actually commit any crimes." Reid added.

Garcia didn't need to add her commentary in how that was a just a different kind of creepy. Based on what she found on his band, creepy and shock value seemed to be part of his whole personae. As far as his relationship with Shelley Mason went; they met at Rock Block when both bands were recording their debut albums. Mason and Nordstrom hit it off quite well and became fast friends; and have appeared in each other's music videos. The rumors of their involvement were started by MacIver, and then played on first by Rigel in an interview on a Canadian talk show where he described their sexual encounters as 'amazing'. Mason never denied it, in fact she indirectly confirming the rumors. Garcia played a YouTube clip of the interview for them. To her, his response was so animated it had to be sarcastic.

"The question is, is he being sarcastic because it's false, or because the in his mind it isn't a big deal? It could be he's just playing it up to get media and fans talking." Alvez said.

"Couldn't it also be that he's covering up for how he really feels about her?" JJ asked.

"That is a possibility." Rossi confirmed. "The trouble I see is that he was probably in Vancouver during these crimes. Maybe he was egging someone on, but..."

"Here's the thing." Garcia interrupted. "Naked Fire has been in San Bernardino recording for the past three months. They took off for Bakersfield bright and early this morning."

"I'll track him down to ask him a few questions." Alvez said.

Next up on Garcia's list was Robert 'Bobby' Rodriguez. She was about to start when Deputy Harris appeared in the background to announce that there was a call for Agent Rossi. Rossi told Garcia to carry on, and that he'd be right back.

Robert Rodriguez was born Robert Williams of San Bernardino, son of Roberta and Sam Williams; she's a waitress, and he was a city police officer until he was gunned down when Robert ten. Two years later Roberta remarried to a Paul Rodriguez. Robert was an above average student in school who actually excelled in athletics. He got in trouble for several incidents of fighting, although all of them were scenarios in which Robert was defending a smaller and weaker student from some bully or another. At eighteen years old, he took up Mixed Martial Arts and became a professional fighter under the name Bobby Rodriguez and would have had a lucrative career if not for a concussion he suffered six years ago, which also revealed a Dural AVM.

"Hold up; AVM, what's that?" Derek asked.

"Arteriovenous malformation; that's a defect of the circulatory system believed to arise during fetal development or soon after birth." Reid blurted. "They are essentially tangled arteries and veins which prevent proper oxygen flow throughout the system, reducing oxygen to the nervous system and increase the risk of bleeding. They can occur anywhere in the body, and the most problematic ones are in the comparatively rare cases when they take place in the spinal cord or in the brain; which is what is called a Dural AVM."

"The most common symptoms of an AVM are headaches and seizures. Also stroke-like symptoms are common; slurred speech, muscle weakness and coordination difficulties." He carried on. "Other symptoms include confusion, vision disturbances and in some rare cases hallucinations have been diagnosed. Evidence also shows that AVM's can cause subtle learning and behavioral disorders during childhood and may present odd personality changes later in life." Reid stopped himself there, realizing he was starting to dwell too long on the subject.

Lastly, Garcia told them what she found on Chad Marten. He was a little bit more difficult because part of his record was sealed as it took place while he was minor; even so, it was mostly petty stuff they were all somewhat used to seeing from kids raised in lower income households in major Metropolitan areas – in Chad's case Los Angeles – and it seemed he got out of having a career as a criminal through the saving grace of a music instructor in school who put him behind a drum kit.

"Music saved his life." JJ said.

"He picked up a job as a studio drummer at Rock Block, and both Shelley and Mike liked working with him so much they offered him a contract." Garcia finished.

"As angry as he might be, he's not our UnSub." Derek said. "He's in it for the money, and again he was at the theatre when MacIver was killed."

"By all accounts so was Rodriguez; he was on security detail." Reid added. "So who does that leave?"

"I think I might have the answer." Rossi announced, coming back into the room. "That call was from our friend Bobby. He says that he just remembered that Rigel Nordstrom was at the show, but left early, claiming he needed to start packing up for the festival. He also apologized if he came off as a little bit weird; he's a bit of a fan of my books and got a little bit excited. I already called Alvez to advise him."

"Based on what we know about him, Rigel doesn't really fit the profile," Reid pointed out. "Our UnSub is impulsive and violent. Rigel reads as a manipulative planner. The only way he really fits would be if he's talking someone into doing things on his behalf."

"Actually I agree." Rossi agreed. "The question in that case would be who did he manage to put up to it?"

"In my interview with Sherriff Mendez he did say that Bernadette had dated Rodriguez briefly years ago, and was more recently seeing a Marco Boanerges. He was a little apprehensive about the guy since he was about ten years older than his daughter, but also admitted he was just about the most well mannered guy she'd ever been with. Marco works as a janitor at the studio, so I contacted Michael Bloch to ask about him, and Bloch said Marco is Pedro's cousin and Pedro gave him the job to help him get back on his feet." Reid said.

"Why wasn't he there today?" JJ asked.

"According to Bloch, he booked some time off." Reid replied plainly.

Even as Morgan was asking what prompted the need to get back on his feet, Garcia was starting the process to find out; figuring that family might be reluctant to discuss such matters. She announced that she was on the case, and signed out.

Before she went on to look into Marco, Garcia decided she had just enough time to look into Reid's pet side project; she was a little bit curious about that herself, anyway. The first thing she did was look up the contact information for Miami Metro's Forensics lab, and when she found the digits gave them a call, fully anticipating to hear from their Lead Forensics Investigator Vincent Masuka.

"This is Forensics; Astor Morgan speaking." A young woman answered. It seemed to Garcia the name Morgan was coming up everywhere for her lately. She wondered briefly which Morgan this one was related to; the mysterious and elusive Dexter, or her hot stuff Derek?

"Yes, hello," Garcia said, brushing her musings aside. "This is Technical analyst Penelope Garcia with the FBI, I was wondering if I could speak to Vincent Masuka, please?"

There was a pause. It could have been simply to check if he was in the office, but to Garcia it seemed just a bit too long for that. Finally Astor Morgan advised her to hold one moment. A moment later a new voice came to her.

"This is Masuka." The voice announced. "How may I help you, Agent Garcia?" The guy was obviously trying his very best to sound professional.

"Well, sir, I was just wondering if you could help us with a little bit of follow up on a case one of our Behavior Analysis teams was there for recently." Garcia replied. "Do you happen to have the file on Jacob Elway readily available?"

"You mean the Copycat Butcher." Masuka said, now sounding a little more casual. "It's really too bad that son of a bitch died in the ER. First he goes from cop to PI, then from PI to psycho killer; I would have loved to see him go to trial and then spend a little quality time with Big Bubba."

"Okay, that insight is both unnecessary and inappropriate, though not entirely unappreciated." Garcia responded. As odd and close to vulgar as the guy was starting to seem, Garcia was already beginning to like this guy. "All I really need to know is if you can send me a copy of the report pertaining to Elway's cause of death, please."

"Do you mind if I ask what this is all about?" Masuka asked.

"This is purely routine," Garcia said almost truthfully. "We just want to make sure our record of the case is accurate. That's all."

"You need to make sure all your t's are crossed and all your i's are dotted." Masuka said; filling in the blanks for her. "I hear that. Sure, I can get that to you. Are you in the system now?"

Garcia confirmed that yes indeed she was in the system, and Vincent Masuka sent the information that she requested. She thanked him and ended the call; barely taking note that for the briefest of moments it sounded like Vincent Masuka was in the middle of saying something that might possibly have been an attempt to flirt with her. Her examination of the file turned up nothing of interest in the toxicology report; the reports on the San Berdoo killings were more interesting, and those were nothing remarkable, either – unless you count the THC levels in the first victim. It looked like Reid might have gotten this one wrong...

But then Garcia remembered something. There was a lot of tech savvy stuff around this case, especially when it came to anything concerning the identity of Dexter Morgan, who seemed to be everywhere on the periphery of the Copycat Butcher. Was it possible that this record was tampered with? She ran a check, and with a basic check found nothing out of the ordinary, but nobody could ever call Penelope Garcia basic in her searches. Although, this time, she might need some cause to probe any deeper. She looked up Miami- Dade hospital records and located the doctor that was responsible for Elway when he was rushed in. Finding Doctor Charles DelRio was super easy work; she even got his office number on her first attempt and dialed it, anticipating the good doctor to be confused as to why the FBI might be calling him.

"This is Doctor Charles DelRio." He answered on the third ring.

"Doctor DelRio, thank you for taking my call." She responded. "This is Technical analyst Penelope Garcia of the FBI..."

"Ah, yes," DelRio replied, cutting her off. "I was wondering if you would call."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I sent the toxicology report from that Federal case a few weeks back; I believe it was a Mr. Jacob Elway?"

"Yes" Garcia confirmed.

"When I found traces of Aconite in his system I sent the report to Miami Metro right away." DelRio said. "After that, I could only assume I would be hearing from you in regards to the possibility of foul play."

Garcia was wrong; it seemed more and more like the Boy Wonder was knocking another one out of the park. "Did you say Aconite, Doctor?" Garcia asked for confirmation. DelRio confirmed that was what he had said. "Thank you, Doctor. Hey, by any chance to your hospital happen to have any security footage of the ward he was in recorded?"

"Of the ward itself, yes, but of the individual beds behind the curtains, no." The doctor answered. It was not the answer she was hoping for, but there was still a good chance she could find something. When she asked if there was a way she could have access to the footage of the date Elway was brought in, DelRio said he could put her through to the administrator to see if she would clear it. Garcia thanked him again and waited for the transfer over to the administrator.

The administrator was considerably less cooperative. She went on about protocols and rights of privacy and doctor-patient confidentiality.

"Okay, ma'am," Garcia said sharply. "First off, let me remind you that the patient I am asking about is dead. Secondly, let me also remind you that this same now dead patient was also directly responsible for the deaths of six people; and by directly I mean that he killed them, one of those six being a sixteen year old boy, and another being a completely innocent old man who had the misfortune of having a specific name. Thirdly, let me point out that despite how terrible this patient of yours was, ma'am, we have reason to believe he was murdered in your hospital, and that the suspect of this probable murder may very well be somewhere on that footage. With all of that in mind, I am giving you a choice; you can either help me get to the bottom of this by granting me the access I require the easy way, or we could do this the hard way, which I promise you will be much harder on you than it will on me. The choice is yours, ma'am."

The administrator chose to grant the access. Unfortunately it appeared to Garcia to be all for nothing. With a heavy sigh, she called Reid.


	6. Chapter 6

_Bakersfield, California_

Tracking down Rigel Nordstrom was an easy enough task. His two band mates, who Luke Alvez learned were named Bellatrix and Luna, were in the trailer at the Festival site. They both claimed that Rigel often takes up a hotel room when they are on tour; they also claimed they didn't know which hotel he'd be staying in. They did know, however, the name he used to check in; it was an old trick often used by celebrities, they check in using an alias in order to help the odds of getting some privacy. The name they gave Alvez to start with was Terry O'Ryan.

This was one search he didn't need Garcia to help him with; once he had a name to look up, the rest of it was easy. SSA Alvez found his man in less than an hour. He also figured that it was likely his girls at the trailer called him and gave him a heads up the FBI were on their way, so there was next to no chance he would find any drugs or contraband of any sort in the suite; not that that mattered. He wasn't interested in that anyway. Still, it might not be a bad plan to keep that quiet; he might catch Rigel off balance and make him tip his hand if he had any involvement in this case.

Upon catching up to Rigel, Alvez quickly found him to be hospitable, charming, and even friendly; if maybe a little bit vague with some his answers. His body language, however, showed no signs of deception; Luke got the impression that the vagueness was a mix a typical interview style he used with media and caution in case the Feds were trying to pin something on him just to close a case. Physically, he, Rigel, looked fit and could probably hold his own in a fight, but not like he could inflict the kind of damage the UnSub was doing. At the bottom of it, Alvez believed he was telling the truth that he left the concert early to get a jump on packing and leaving for the Festival; especially since he did an interview on early morning talk radio show in Bakersfield the next day. It seemed unlikely he would be able to stop, kill MacIver, and get to the interview.

"We're almost done here, sir." Alvez said, having just a couple more questions. "What can you tell me about your relationship with Shelley Mason?"

Rigel raised an eyebrow. "I should have guessed this was about her." He said. "Let me guess; those killings have something to do with it, too, right?"

"Will just answer the question, please?"

Rigel raised his hands, palms towards the agent in a gesture of appeasement. "We're cool with each other, her and me." He answered. "We like working together, and we hook up every now and again. It's casual."

"You made it sound a little more than casual on TV." Alvez pointed out.

Rigel laughed, not unkindly. "That's showbiz. That hack MacIver starting writing trash about the both of us and our 'involvement', so I played it up. Shelley played along. The idea was to blow it out of proportion; make the matter so ridiculous it became a non-issue."

"So I take it you're no fan of Jeff MacIver."

"He's irrelevant to me." Rigel said, and then corrected his statement to 'was irrelevant'. "If anything, turning bad press into some ludicrous spectacle is part of my act; it keeps people talking. Shelley cared even less about what he had to say."

"What about Dryer and Fox" Alvez asked, "Did she care about them?"

"Well, yeah, of course she did. Dryer tried to assault her, and Fox took those nudie shots." Rigel replied. "She pressed charges on Dryer, and really was just pissed that Fox didn't just come up and ask to take photos. They could have staged the whole 'candid' shoot."

Alvez studied Rigel closely; trying to decide if he was telling the truth, and more importantly trying to discern how he would come to know so much about her if their relationship was casual. Apparently Rigel Nordstrom had a knack for reading body tells as well.

"Look, if you don't believe me, ask Mike or Pedro when they get here. That's where I heard about the Fox thing from. The Dryer thing was all over the news, anyway."

"I might do just that." Alvez replied. "Break a leg on your set."

Rigel thanked him as he got up and left. As far as Luke could tell, Rigel Nordstrom may well be something of an instigator, but other than that he was all show and no go when it came to being the kind of evildoer his stage personae was crafted to be. Even if they were to bring him in as a suspect, who he wasn't just yet, the guy would probably just add it to his act in some way.

 _Leaving San Bernardino, California_

Even though David Rossi and his team of Profilers were about ready to deliver their profile, Booby Rodriguez decided it would be better if he missed that delivery. Sure, he was curious what they had to say; to see how close they got, but it was just like Shelley said. If he stuck around, there was a chance he would unwittingly give himself away; either by getting too anxious if they got it right, or looking too relieved if they got it wrong. There was a good chance he would be able to catch a version of it on the news anyway. Instead, he decided Shelley was right; he should get a head start towards Bakersfield. This way he could make sure nobody was going to mess with her there. So Bobby got into his car and started out shortly after calling SSA Rossi to tell him what he 'just remembered'. He also considered mentioning that cousin of Pedro's, but kind of figured that since he was seeing Bernadette anyway, the cops probably already about him.

Realizing that the BAU team figured it was a Shelley Mason stalker thing, Bobby almost counted on seeing Rossi again. That was why he brought a copy of his latest book, 'Deal with the Devil – the Tommy Yates Case' with him. He glanced casually at it over his shoulder where it rested on the back seat. He brought along partly because he was reading it, but also because he was hoping to get Rossi to sign it; and maybe ask him if it was true that the 'Womb Raider' really was the life altering UnSub he had ever encountered.

On the road and on his way to Bakersfield, Bobby felt good. He wasn't worried about FBI; they'd probably bust either Rigel or Pedro's cousin. Even if they did catch him, Shelley would certainly get him a lawyer and make sure he his sentence was as light as possible. Not that that mattered to him; he'd die for Shelley if he had to. Just like he said in his letter; and just like she knew he would. That was why she wrote their song. He reached over and turned on the radio. He couldn't help but laugh a little when he heard that the last little bit of Naked Fire's 'Trouble' was playing.

"Here comes Trouble." He muttered, quoting the song. "You have no idea."

"That was Trouble, California," the DJ announced, "by Canadian Indie Band Naked Fire; burning up the charts and running neck and neck with our own Indie sensation Prettymouth who will be running a little bit late in their arrival to the Bakersfield Indie Festival this weekend. Though neither Mike Bloch nor Pedro Rocha would give any specific reason, there is some media buzz that frontgirl Shelley Mason may be dealing with some minor legal issue; perhaps something to with Sean Dryer who allegedly tried to assault her. Shelley herself has not been available for comment, but we do have something all you Prettymouth fans out there."

Bobby turned the radio up a notch; certain they were going to play their song.

"Don't you worry, baby,  
I'll never ever break a date.  
Don't you worry, baby,  
I'm just a little bit fashionably late..."

The song began. It was wrong; that wasn't their song at all.

"NO!" he shouted, jabbing violently at the off switch and gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. They were playing a different song. Bobby's mood was quickly turning sour.

 _"Don't let them get to you."_ Shelley admonished him from the passenger seat beside him. " _It's a trick, you know. They are guessing that Crush is our special song, so they talked the station into playing something else t see if they can upset you into showing yourself."_

"So they're on to me?" Bobby asked.

 _Not you specifically, hon,"_ She amended. _"I meant the Feds figured out the UnSub as they call him has fixated on the song and figure if they put a different one on the air it will throw him off his game. Don't let that happen."_

Bobby was about to ask how they figured out Crush was their song, but Shelley only had to give him that look she had that he called affectionate contempt and he realized the answer all by himself; it was the masks. He left them at the scenes so she could see for herself the extent of his devotion, but what Rossi and his team probably saw was that the masks were sued in the video and made the connection. He cursed himself out for his stupidity.

 _"Hey, babe"_ Shelley said, reaching over and placing her hand on his thigh, pouting in that way he could not resist. " _It's still okay; anybody could be leaving them at the scenes. None of it proves it was you. Hell, in the video it was Rigel walking around seeing the mask face everywhere like an obsessed freak."_

"You're right" Bobby agreed. "I need to chill out a little." He loosened his grip on the wheel and absently rubbed his right temple with his fingertips in an attempt to massage a slight headache as he drove on.

 _San Bernardino, California_

"We are looking for a classic erotomaniac." David Rossi began, speaking to the Sherriff's department in San Bernardino with a Skype link to Bakersfield. "That's the term used to describe someone who becomes obsessed with another person, most commonly a celebrity, and develops the delusion that the object of his obsession either shares their interest or even more likely that they are romantically involved. In this particular case, our Unknown Subject has fixated upon Prettymouth singer Shelley Mason."

"So what we're looking for is a crazed Prettymouth fan." Deputy Harris commented.

"That is one possibility." Morgan confirmed. "But don't get tunnel vision. This could just as easily be someone on the periphery of Shelley's life; someone that sees her every day that she might only be vaguely aware of his presence. An example of this kind of scenario would be the stalker and murderer that fixated on television star Lila Archer at the start of her career." Morgan stole a glance at Reid, barely suppressing a grin. If Rossi remembered correctly, Lila took a liking to the kid; their very brief encounter even made a spot in the tabloids. Rossi was still in retirement at the time, but he did recall seeing a magazine cover with Archer and Reid holding hands and chatting; the headline hinting that there was a mystery man in Lila's life.

"Wait a minute." One of the Constables interrupted. "You keep saying he, but wasn't Lila Archer's stalker female?"

"Yes, that is true." Reid replied. "But right now we are dealing with this case, not Lila Archer. The amount of brute force and sheer used on the victims in this case is overwhelmingly more common in males; a female erotomaniac would much more likely either shoot her targets or use an indirect means of disposal like poison. As you all know by now these victims were severely beaten and then strangled with the UnSub's hands. That kind of direct attack, and the amount of upper body strength required to accomplish this makes it all but certainly a male suspect."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Harris asked stiffly.

"The fact that there were no defensive wounds on any of the victims, and again the behavior pattern of a direct assault like these is exponentially more likely to occur with a male suspect." Reid answered. "Forensics also revealed traces of vinyl and leather in the teeth of the victims, and leather of a consistent type under the fingernails of Bernadette Mendez."

"This tells us the man we are looking for is impulsive in decision to kill, but still organized enough to take at least a few minor countermeasures." Rossi said. "He wears gloves, double layered, to prevent leaving fingerprints; which also has the added benefit of limiting the amount of damage he might sustain on his hands. He wears heavy clothing which serves almost like armor in case they do manage to fight back; which also helps to prevent his leaving any useful DNA at any of the scenes- or certainly on any of his victims. He's a skilled fighter, using elbows and knees to strike with, which again will make it more difficult to track him based on injuries he may have sustained during the struggle; which was in all likelihood a brief one because he has been able to subdue his targets with alarming speed."

"We are looking for a physically fit white male in late twenties to early thirties; probably quite athletic in build." JJ began the actual profile. "He'll likely be friendly and even helpful, but there will be something off about the way he acts; think of the lovable loser type, the guy who tries just a little too hard to seem up to speed with current trends, but doesn't quite get them right."

"He'll probably also be fiercely loyal to the band; particularly Shelley Mason herself." Reid added. "In fact, we shouldn't be too surprised if we find something of shrine to her at his residence."

"He's not by any stretch of the word stupid, but probably nowhere near as smart as he thinks he is." Rossi continued. "Right now he's likely aware we are looking for him, but is confident that we won't find him; or he would have likely panicked and given himself away."

"I have a question. If he's convinced that he and Shelley are together, what happens when he realizes that they are not?" Harris asked.

"That depends on the circumstances of his realization." Derek replied.

"Basically there are two possibilities." Reid picked up. "One of those two is the possibility that he has a sort of moment of clarity where he realizes he's been living in a delusion; in which case he may either turn himself in or more likely will attempt suicide – possibly by cop."

"The other possibility is he may perceive his realization as a betrayal on part of Shelley and turn his aggressions against her." JJ finished.

"With that in mind, I think it goes without saying that Shelley Mason may be in very real danger here. Despite our recommendations, she and her band are going ahead to attend the Festival in Bakersfield." Rossi said. "That is why we have an agent there now, and Agent Reid and I will be joining him to investigate the probability that our UnSub will be attending as well. Meanwhile, Agents Morgan and Jareau will be staying here in order to identify who he is on the presumption that he lives and works here in San Bernardino. We ask that all press and media inquiries be deferred to Agent Jareau. Thank you."

"Okay, fellas, we know what this guy did; he got to Rick's little girl. Let's find this creep." Deputy Harris urged her guys on. They began to file out of the conference room and towards their assignments. Meanwhile the Team began to converge around Rossi.

"Reid and I will be heading out to Bakersfield." Rossi reiterated. "JJ, Morgan, I know the police here already talked to that janitor about Bernadette, but I want you two to take another look at him just to be sure. Morgan, call Garcia and find out if she has anything on Marco Boanerges. JJ, see if you can get ahead of the press on this; I don't want them turning this into some kind of modern Romeo and Juliette thing." He paused, and turned to Reid, "I know the analogy doesn't fit the scenario; that's actually my point."

Reid blinked, puzzled. Almost instantly, Dave felt a little bad for his remark. Apparently the kid wasn't going to say anything to that effect this time. He liked the kid; he really did, but sometimes his tendency to tangent on things like that was distracting. Still, he was an important asset to the team, and didn't deserve to be talked to like that. Dave would clear that up on their trip; if nothing else it would give them something to talk about.

 _Approaching Bakersfield, California_

With his nerves calmed down and his headache subsiding, Bobby turned the radio back on.

"Listen up, Cali," the DJ announced – a different one from the last time he turned it on. "We just got a hit on the net about the delay of Prettymouth's appearance at the Bakersfield Festival this weekend. First of all, the delay is on their appearance only; they will be playing as scheduled, so no worries there. Second, this speaks to the rumors of some minor legal trouble for Shelley Mason. Apparently that isn't exactly the case. As it turns out, rumor has it the FBI are in San Berdoo as I speak to you right now looking into the deaths of a number of people that the band, especially Shelley, have had grievances with recently. While the Feds do not consider any of the band members as suspects, they do acknowledge the connection and believe that the killings may be the work of a crazed fan. It looks like Shelley Mason may have herself a guardian angel..."

Bobby grinned. He liked the sound of that. In the passenger seat next to him, Shelley had dozed off; and that was just as well. She needed her rest if she was going to be at her best. He was her guardian angel; it was his job to keep her healthy and safe at all costs. Of course, with Agent Rossi and his team around, he'd have to be careful about accepting that role too openly; he couldn't do his job effectively if he got himself arrested, after all...


	7. Chapter 7

_San Bernardino, California_

After Dave and Spencer left for Bakersfield, JJ and Derek went about the business of finding Marco Boanerges. It was an easy enough task; JJ got an address the first place she tried. It was obvious, really; his cousin and employer Pedro Rocha was willing enough to give it, although he did comment that there was no way Marco had anything to do with any of this. That was not a surprise; it's a common thing for close knit family members to rally around each other and believe the best in each other. JJ assured Pedro that all they wanted was to ask him a few questions to see if maybe he saw something or knew something that he doesn't realize is important. She stayed behind while Derek left to pick him up; Marco lived about half an hour away.

"JJ, I got him." Derek told her when he called. "I'm gonna stay here and give his place a look. He's coming to you now. Do you think you can handle talking to him?"

"I'll be fine, Morgan." JJ replied. "You go ahead and see what you can find out about him." She disconnected the call.

After sending Marco off with a uniform to talk to JJ, Derek Morgan stepped into the bungalow that Marco Boanerges called home. Maybe it was due to past memories, but Morgan was sincerely surprised at how easy this guy was; when he knocked on the door and identified himself, Boanerges put up no fight at all. By the look of him, he looked like he could have if he wanted to; but he didn't. It could be that he figured he was caught so there was no point, or it could be that he was innocent so had no reason to resist. That was what Derek Morgan wanted to find out.

At first glance around the place, it was clear that Boanerges was not a particularly organized man. In fact, Derek would go so far as to say the guy was an outright slob. This of course begged the question: how does a guy who cleans for a living live in such squalor?

"Okay, so I'm Marco." Derek began, trying to get into the role. "I spend forty to sixty hours a week cleaning up after other people in a studio and the grounds immediately surrounding it. How is it I can stand coming home to this?" The answer came to him almost instantly. "Because after that much time cleaning, the last thing I want to do is even look at a broom or a mop." It felt good to be doing this again. It was somehow... right.

He looked around closer. He saw a sink full of dirty dishes, but noted how few of them were pots or pans. Curious, he opened up the microwave. To his surprise, it was clean; recently cleaned, by the look of it, he also took note that the coffee maker was and the area around it was also clean. On the shelf right beside the machine was a glass jar with coffee beans, and beside that was a coffee grinder. "So I like my coffee fresh ground to the pot." He said, keeping the role. "Probably drink a lot of it, that's why I go out of my way to keep this station clean. I'm not much of a cook," he opened the freezer to find it full of microwave type dinners. He opened the fridge to find a lot of containers which had take out or delivery left over's in them. "So I either use the nuker or order in." Derek also noticed there were a lot of empty bottles; soda, cola, fruit juices, even milk to go bottles were crowded by the easy chair across from the television and around the desktop computer. There was an impressive DVD and CD library; with a wide range of movies, sports specials, music videos, and television box sets. So far the guy looked like a typical bachelor. The decor was sparse; no posters or photographs which was unusual, but there were a few interesting art pieces. Most of those looked like they were done either by himself-there was an easel and some paints in one corner of the main room- or maybe by friends and family. Also around the computer were several notebooks and what appeared to be some kind of manuscript.

"I don't get it." Derek muttered to himself. "Something is wrong with this bachelor pad, but I can't see what it is. What's here that shouldn't be?" Morgan thought about it, and then rephrased the question. "What isn't here that should be?" He looked again in the fridge. There was no liquor of any kind. He tried the cupboards, the pantry, and the linen closet; anywhere and everywhere a dude might hide his booze or stash that he could think of and found nothing. None of the empties were liquor. Then he saw it; next to the bed which was neatly made. There was a fourth edition copy of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. He went back to the kitchen and dining area. On the table which was cluttered with papers he located a notebook which was clearly a journal; and beside was a bible and a daily meditation book. The bible had a bookmark in it; it was marked at 2 Chronicles chapter 1, which is where King Solomon asks God for wisdom after being told he can have anything he wants. Of all the things Solomon could ask for, he asks for something that will help him become a better leader for his people. On a nearby bookshelf, Derek noticed Marco had several different pieces of AA literature. The guy was trying to put his life back together, and his cousin was helping him out with an honest job.

What was also missing was any sign of any sort of obsession with Shelley Mason or Prettymouth at all. Derek could not see any particular connection between the case and this guy other than the fact he was seeing Bernadette. If there was anything to this guy, it was going to have to come from JJ. He called her up to let her know what he did find.

On the road towards Bakersfield, Dr. Spencer Reid was more than a little preoccupied with the original Bay Harbor Butcher case and why Jacob Elway chose that UnSub to copy in order to draw Hannah McKay back to Miami. Garcia was able to confirm what Spencer suspected; Elway's heart attack was ultimately caused by a dosage of Aconite. What was interesting was that Miami Metro Homicide was apparently unaware of his fact. According to Garcia, she had to talk to the doctor at the hospital to get a proper COD on Elway. She also sent some video footage of the ER around the estimated time of death to his PDA.

At first, Spencer couldn't really see anything out of the ordinary. On the surface everything looked as one would expect in that kind of environment. There were nurses doing their rounds, aides attending to their duties, there was a doctor talking to a nurse just outside of the curtains of one of the beds. After the nurse left, the doctor went in behind the curtain and left a short time later. Moments after that, all hell broke loose; the bed was suddenly crowded with nurses and EMT's. The bed was Jacob Elway's. The doctor that was just with him was nowhere to be found. In fact the doctor was the only part that didn't fit. He was wearing full scrubs including a surgical cap and mask. Due to the poor angle and low quality of the image, it was all but impossible to make identification on the doctor; the mask and cap concealed hair color and any possible distinguishing marks.

"Hey listen, kid." Rossi said. "I want to apologize for taking your head off earlier."

"What do you mean?" Spencer asked, not sure what Rossi was driving at.

"The Romeo and Juliet remark I made?" Dave prompted. "How we don't need to know the analogy doesn't fit the parameters of this case?"

"What about it? You're right, the analogy doesn't fit, even if the media is likely to try to use it to romanticise this UnSub for ratings and copy." Reid replied.

Dave looked over at Reid for a moment, and then shook his head lightly. "Never mind, then." He said finally, turning his eyes back to the road. "So what've you got there?"

"A video file of the hospital around the time of Jacob Elway's death." Reid answered. "I had Garcia go back over the particulars to verify the exact cause. As it turns out she was able to contact the doctor and confirm that the actual cause of the heart attack was a dosage of Aconite."

"That's interesting." Rossi said. "Wasn't Aconite the favorite poison used by Hannah MacKay?"

"Exactly," Reid confirmed. "And Hannah McKay was Elway's prime target. She was the whole reason that he started up with his whole Copycat ruse; it was to lure her out of hiding. The big question I have is this; why the Bay Harbor Butcher? There is no discernible connection between James Doakes and Hannah. What I can't help wondering is what if they got the wrong guy? What if the actual UnSub managed to frame Doakes and is still out there somewhere? I mean, Jacob Elway was a private investigator; suppose he figured out who the real Butcher was and made a connection to McKay? Following that, what if his attempt to draw out Hannah actually drew out the original Butcher?"

"There's another possibility, you know." David countered. "It could be that Elway was successful in manner of speaking. It's possible that McKay did go back to Miami to weed out the threat Elway was posing."

"While that does fit her profile as a survivalist who kills only out of necessity rather than any particular psychotic need, the video footage Garcia was able to provide shows that the most likely person to administer the Aconite was clearly male. Unfortunately he was completely covered up in gear that made him look in place at a hospital emergency room so it's basically impossible to identify him beyond that."

Rossi was quiet for a while. Finally he spoke again, changing the subject back to the case at hand. "So, did Shelley get that love letter her song is based off to you yet?"

"No, not yet," Reid replied. "I was hoping to get it once we all got to the festival." Of course Rossi was right; the case they were on needed to be the priority right now. Still, the Butcher was something Spencer couldn't quite let go of. If he was right, if Doakes was framed, then the real Butcher would have to be someone close enough to the case that he could manipulate evidence to that end. He would also have to be close in the sense that he would know how to convince the police the evidence they found was genuine; possibly even be directly involved in the police process. Lundy got that part right in his original profile. The bodies that were found in the Harbor back then were found by accident so the Butcher wasn't after fame or anything like that; in fact the extent he went to hide the bodies and conceal all evidence indicated that the Butcher would have been happier if nobody even knew he existed. That alone made it extraordinarily unlikely that whoever killed Elway did so because Elway was stealing his thunder. It seemed to him that this had to be about Hannah. Keeping that in mind Spencer wondered who was connected to both the Butcher case and to Hannah McKay; the only answer he could come up with was Dexter Morgan and the Miami Metro Homicide Department. Dexter was the best fit by far because he was known to have had an intimate relationship with Hannah. In addition to that, Dexter had a remarkably difficult childhood, and was twice over considered as a suspect; both points which only added to the fact that he fit the profile that Lundy had initially put together. The problem of course was the utter lack of hard evidence linking Dexter to anything. If he was or is the original Bay Harbor Butcher, he's probably the closest thing to a perfect serial killer that the BAU has ever seen.

 _San Bernardino, California_

"I really don't know what else I can tell you, agent Jareau." Marco Boanerges said. "I had nothing to do with any of this."

Jennifer Jareau wasn't sure if she believed him or not. On the one hand she was looking at a guy who was acting like he had nothing to hide; on the other hand she also knew that all too often that is exactly how these guys play it. Normally an innocent man will be agitated that he's been brought in the first place. Marco was acting cool and collected.

In addition, JJ had Garcia run a check on Marcus 'Marco' Boanerges. She found he was 35 years old, never married, no kids, and was born in Palmdale, California. He had a record of drug-related charges, as well as a few charges of assault, break and enter, and burglary. That gave her an idea what sort of 'trouble' cousin Pedro is helping him out of.

"Where exactly did you meet Bernadette Mendez?" JJ asked.

"I don't see what that has to do with anything." Marco insisted. "I didn't hurt her. I already told you she went to go pick up some of her stuff from an ex from a long time ago. She didn't want me coming with her because she thought me being there might set him off."

She was about to press the issue when her phone rang. Checking the display, she saw it was Morgan. JJ excused herself and left the interview room to take the call.

"I hope you have something useful for me, Morgan." She said.

"I'm pretty sure this is a guy who's doing his damndest to live right and fly straight, JJ." Morgan replied. "He's got a pile of journals with Bible study notes incorporated going back at least seven years, and the place is full of AA literature. There's nothing here to suggest he's even much of a Prettymouth fan. He paints – badly, but hey, it's a hobby, and it looks like he's trying to write a novel or something. Thumbing through his journals I don't see anything that tells me he has any violent tendencies, and I'd be willing to bet that if we had Reid assess his study notes he'd agree that his take on his religion is a more or less healthy one based on principles around the spirit of law rather than letter of law. He's clean and sober, and even though he's a slob at home I don't think he's psychotic or delusional. I don't think he's our guy, JJ."

"Okay, thank you." JJ said, disconnecting the call.

"Seven years," Marco said as she re-entered the room.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm clean and sober seven years." He said. "Your partner stayed behind after he picked me up. I'm thinking he must be going through my stuff. He had to find my recovery literature by now. Yeah, I got a record; but by God's grace I got a second chance. If you really need to know, that's where I met Bernie. She was in three years. She didn't want her dad to know."

Spence said that in his interview with the Sherriff Bernadette also dated Bobby Rodriguez. Was that the ex boyfriend she went to get stuff from? Bobby also worked at the studio. Maybe this would lead into a whole new line of questioning. JJ smiled warmly; hoping to convey that she believed him.

"So, are you a big Prettymouth fan, Mr. Boanerges?" She asked. The change of subject would throw him off balance if he had any sort of schizoid issues.

"Well, they're a good band and everything," Marco replied, taking the change in stride. "I mean, they're not Smashing Pumpkins or Faith No More, but they're not bad, you know?"

"You're right about that." JJ agreed. "What about Naked Fire?"

Marco scrunched his nose. "Nah, I'm not too big on the whole spooky hocus-pocus act. They should focus more on the music and less on the image."

JJ nodded as if she thought so too. "Clean and sober seven years, huh?" She switched again. "That's impressive."

"Thank you, but it ain't got nothing to do with me. That's all about God's work in me." Marco said.

"And that's how you met Bernadette." JJ said for confirmation. "What about Robert Rodriguez? Did either of you meet him there, too?" She expected him to refuse to answer that question based on the anonymity clause those meetings usually have.

"Bobby?" he asked, clearly puzzled. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Can you answer the question?"

"No, I only know Bobby from the studio." Marco answered, still a little perplexed.

"Do you have any idea where Bernadette may have met him?"

"Did she even know him?"

"According to her father they dated some time ago briefly." JJ answered. "You didn't know that?"

Marco shook his head indicating no. Then JJ could almost see the wheels of reasoning turn behind his eyes. "You think maybe he was the ex boyfriend she went to go pick her stuff up from?" He asked.

That was what JJ was thinking. She ignored his question and asked another one herself. "Would you say Bobby is a big Prettymouth or Naked Fire fan?"

"Are you kidding?" Marco retorted. "I wouldn't even get him started on Prettymouth; especially not Shelley Mason. He'll go on and on about how she gave him that stupid he wears all the time. He's super protective of them – like he thinks he's their personal security officer instead of the studio guard. Don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy; but that's just plain weird if you ask me."

"I agree totally," JJ said. "That's weird." She stood up and opened the interview room door. "Thank you, Mr. Boanerges. You can go. On behalf of the FBI I apologize for the inconviences; we just have to make sure we cover every single possibility."

Marco stood up himself, holding his hands up, palms facing JJ. "It's about due diligence. I get it. You think I can get a ride back home?"


	8. Chapter 8

_Bakersfield, California_

Now that Shelley was safe and sound, Bobby felt like he could take a bit of a break. That meant he could wait for Agent David Rossi to show up; it was only a matter of time. While waiting, he opened up the copy _Deal with the Devil,_ the book David wrote on the Womb Raider case that he had brought with him in the hopes of getting the Agent to sign it. Though he had read it already, it was a really good read. One of the interesting things about it was how rarely Rossi use the term "Womb Raider"; he insisted instead on using the name Yates, or Thomas Yates – sometimes Tommy. He began to read:

 _Before I begin this account, I have a simple question for you: Do you believe in the devil? I had to ask myself that same question, and as a result I started to consider a lot of the things I have seen over the years in my career. Based on that, the only answer I can give to that question is a resounding yes. In fact, I see him once a year; the same date every year. That's part of the deal. In return, he gives me a name and a location; the name and the location correspond to the remains of a young woman – a victim of his – and the place where he left her. After both the name and location are confirmed to be accurate (they always have so far), I then have the dubious pleasure of personally breaking the news to the victim's surviving families. I tell myself that at the very least these families will have closure in regards to their missing wife or mother or daughter (usually she is all three); but all too often that rationalization brings cold comfort at best..._

Though David never actually reveals what the date is, he does reveal that the arrangement is made with Thomas Yates; who is now incarcerated as a direct result of his work, along with other members of the Behavior Analysis Unit of the FBI. He even names a few of the members: SSA Aaron Hotchner (retired) in particular is mentioned as the Womb Raider case started in Seattle, where Hotchner was stationed at the time. According to David Rossi, the investigation went on over the course of decades; partly because, they believed, the kills were so few or at least far between.

Bobby glanced up from his book to scan the parking area to discern for signs of any new arrivals. That was when, in the corner of his eye, he took notice of a news kiosk as a delivery of a celebrity tabloid was being dropped off. Curious, he closed the book, stood up, and made his way to the kiosk. It was still pretty early in the morning, so there wasn't much of a crowd yet; most were either still sleeping off the celebration from the night before or starting the day off with a 'wake and bake'. The tabloid's front page screamed a question at him:

 **SHELLEY'S ANGEL?**

He bought a copy of the paper.

"That's some pretty crazy stuff." The clerk behind the counter said to him. "They say the FBI is stepping in as part of her security detail and everything."

Bobby smiled. "They are." He said. "One thing is for sure, nobody's going to be able to hurt her now. I'm part of her security, too." He added proudly, touching the brim of the fedora. "She and I have gotten pretty close. She even gave me this hat."

"That's cool." The clerk nodded. "Hey, you look kind of familiar; have I seen you somewhere before?" He called after him as he turned around to go back to where he was.

Bobby paused and turned to look at the clerk. "Maybe," he replied. "I was in MMA for little while a few years back."

The clerk waved a finger at him in recognition. "Yeah, I remember you now! You're Bobby Rodriguez!" He exclaimed. "You were awesome! What happened to you? Why'd you quit?"

"I got a concussion in one of my fights." Bobby answered. "Then the doctors found something wrong in my head so I had to quit."

"That sucks, man." The clerk said. Then he brightened up a little. "But hey, it looks like you kept yourself in shape, and you got yourself a nice gig watching Shelley's back, right?"

Bobby's heart warmed a little at that. He smiled and gave the clerk a single curt nod before returning to his post.

David Rossi and Spencer Reid arrived in Bakersfield late the night before. As they were just getting into town, JJ and Morgan called Rossi and told him about her interview with Marco. He sounded like he was clean, but also gave information that pointed back at Rodriguez. Apparently he claims that hat he wears was a gift from Shelley herself, and acts especially protective of her; as if he's her personal bodyguard. Following that, Morgan got the landlord of Bobby's apartment to let him in.

"Guys, you should see this place." Morgan had said. "It's wall to wall Prettymouth; he's got a shrine to Shelley Mason complete with a replica of the Crush mask mounted on a wig stand. His computer has got a playlist of every Prettymouth song and video, and the browsing history shows some serious obsession with all things Mason. And he's got every season of Criminal Behavior on DVD. Not only that, but his bookshelf has a copy of every one of your books, Rossi."

That was when Reid suggested that it was entirely possible that Rodriguez could have slipped out of the theatre to take out MacIver during the show. It was starting to look more and more like Bobby Rodriguez was their UnSub; Mendez was a break from the pattern, but she did have a previous relationship with him. Maybe she knew something that could be used against him, or maybe he thought that getting rid of her was a way of proving his love and devotion to Shelley.

Then just this morning Garcia rang in to all of them. Apparently the Media got tipped off.

"An internet reporter calling him or herself stargazer97 posted an article which has made it into the Associated Press circulation all over the country linking all but one of the killings to Shelley Mason and has given the UnSub the nickname 'Shelley's Angel'." She said.

"If Rodriguez is our guy, I'm sure he loves that." Morgan commented. "Now he's being made out to be Shelley Mason's Guardian Angel; removing all threats to her safety."

"He could also see it as putting their love on public record." Reid pointed out. "Now the whole country or maybe even the world knows of their relationship and just how true their love for each other is."

Normally Rossi would have rather the news didn't come out at all, but this time around it gave him an idea. He and Bobby already an established rapport, and he might be able to use the article to their advantage.

"What if we validated the UnSub's delusion?" Rossi suggested. "Suppose we stated that we believed the two of them had a real relationship after all, and that we thought maybe Shelley Mason was putting him up to committing these murders for her?"

"I can see how that might work. I took a listen to the song, and one of the lines says 'I'll even do time or die for you if that's what you need'." Alvez said. "If we cast some shade on Shelley herself, he might turn himself in to clear her name."

"If that's the direction we're going to go, why don't we make it look like we're bringing her in for questioning while we're at it?" Reid suggested. "It might add pressure on the UnSub whether it's Rodriguez or not."

"I like it." Rossi agreed. "If we up the ante as high as we can go, the UnSub will have to make a move one way or another."

"I can call for a press conference and update our Profile to that effect." JJ offered.

"Hold off on that for a little while, JJ." Rossi said. "I have a rapport with the guy. I'm thinking I should talk to him first; make it sound like he's got my confidence and I'm giving him an inside scoop for security reasons. Meanwhile, Reid, I want you to tell Shelley what we're doing so she knows she's not a suspect at all. Also, there's a good chance he might try to fight his way out of this."

"He's a pretty big guy," Morgan said, "and he's a skilled fighter. That could get ugly real quick."

"That's why I want you to get up here to Bakersfield as quickly as you can." Rossi said. "Meet with Alvez at the Festival and be ready in case this does get physical. I'm hoping it doesn't, but I'd rather be prepared."

The call ended, and Spencer started his route to the Prettymouth dressing room; taking care to stay out of Bobby's line of sight. Hopefully Rossi could sideline Rodriguez long enough for both Morgan and Alvez to get ready in the event things should get physical. Ideally, Rossi's play will work; if Rodriguez is the UnSub and he meant what he said in the letter, it should. The important part was to get Shelley to play along; although based on what they knew about her already, Reid did not anticipate that would be much of a problem.

He found the dressing room and knocked on the door. The door opened, and Reid was greeted by an athletic looking black man with angry eyes and dreadlocks. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Hi, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI," Reid flash his credentials. "I'm with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I was hoping to talk to Shelley Mason. Is she here?"

The man, who had to be Chad, scrutinized the credentials, sized Reid up, and grunted indifferently. Over his shoulder, he shouted into the room. "Yo, Shelley! One of the Feebs is here for you!"

"Is he cute?" a female voice shouted back.

Chad grinned and stifled an amused laugh. "He looks a little bit like Mike!" He said. He says his name is Spencer Reid."

"That's Dr. Spencer Reid," Reid amended. "I have PhD's in..."

Chad held up a hand, palm facing Reid. "You want I should let him in or what?" He called into the room again.

"I guess you better." She replied with an exaggerated exasperation. Chad stepped aside and let Reid enter the dressing room. Inside it was more like a small apartment than a room. Shelley Mason was standing beside a couch, a glass in one hand and an envelope in the other. She looked Reid up and down. "You're much cuter than Mike." She said finally. "You're her for the fan letter, right?" She extended the envelope towards him and he took it, thanking her. He was about to start explaining what was going on when she spoke again.

"Is it true that you can figure out what makes a guy tick based on his writing style?" She asked.

"Absolutely," Reid replied. He was about to start on a tangential lecture on cryptography but stopped himself. Lately he was making a more concerted effort to not allow himself to get sidetracked or ramble. "I'll look at this later. Right now it's important that I update you on the progress of our investigation."

"Right down to business," Shelley said appreciatively. "I like it. So I heard from Rigel; one of your guys grilled him almost like he was a suspect."

"We have to look into every possibility." Reid replied, a little confused by the apparent contradictions between Shelley's words and her actions. Was it part of her personae, or what? "I can understand if it was upsetting to him, but..."

"No, you don't get it." She cut him off. "He thought it was great. He's already planning out how to work the publicity of being a suspected serial killer into his act."

That really struck Reid as an unusual way to go. Why would anyone want that kind of shadow hanging over them? He thought about asking, but decided instead to stay on the task at hand.

"So what's this progress you guys have made?" Shelley asked. "Have you spotted someone that fits the Profile? Has the Unknown Subject given himself away, Riann?"

Spencer surprised himself a little in that he caught her reference right away; Riann Maxwell was a lead character on the show Criminal Behavior. It was the character played by Lila Archer. Despite the fact of his job having a way of making the show look a little silly, Reid found it was a bit of a guilty pleasure watching it; maybe it was because of Lila.

He opened the envelope and gave the letter a quick scan. Interestingly, Shelley didn't question that he could actually read as fast as he could; in fact she didn't even give him so much as a strange look, she seemed to accept it as a fact.

"I'm not sure if you're aware, but the internet news feed has connected the recent deaths of Dryer, Fox, and MacIver to you, and are now calling our UnSub 'Shelley's Angel'. They are playing off the idea that he's some kind of guardian angel that's removing all perceived threats to your safety, integrity and career. We believe that this will only encourage him to be ever more vigilant in that in his mind it will legitimize his delusion that the two of you are in some kind of romantic relationship."

"That doesn't surprise me." Shelley broke in. "All someone would have to do is look up the names of the victims and see that they had some kind of negative contact with me just before their death. From there, it's a pretty easy jump to make the stalker-slash-guardian angel connection. If you think I leaked anything, I swear I didn't."

"No, it's not that at all." Reid reassured her. "In fact, we thought of a way to use this media leak to our advantage."

"I don't think me going on the air and denouncing this claim is such a hot idea. Won't that just piss him off and make him come after me as a traitor?"

"It probably would, yes." Reid admitted. "But..."

"I'm all for being adventurous, but I don't like the idea of being used as bait." Shelley cut him off. "If that's what you're thinking, you'll just have to come up with something else."

"Actually, we were thinking of going in basically the opposite direction." Reid said. "We were thinking that if we acted like we believed you two were in fact romantically involved and that you were putting him up to it, we could stage bringing you in for questioning. Since in both the letter and in one of the lines of your song based on the letter he says he'd be willing to do time for you, he might turn himself in so he could clear your good name."

"So you put some suspicion on me and he might have no choice if he wants to protect me." Shelley said thoughtfully. She raised an eyebrow in interest. "And maybe he comes in peacefully, swearing that I had nothing to do with it. Do you think it would work?"

"I think it might." Reid confirmed. "On the other hand he might panic and try to fight his way out; in which case you would be safely out of his reach."

Shelley thought about it for a moment, and then smiled almost sardonically as she held out her arms, wrists clasped together. "Then take me away, copper." She said finally in an exaggerated faux Irish accent. Or maybe it was Scottish; Spencer never really could tell the specifics of the UK dialects. At any rate, it was clear that Shelley was going to cooperate.

"I don't think handcuffs will be necessary." Spencer said making himself smile despite the fact he was finding he didn't think much of her. "There's a couple of uniform officers just outside, they will escort us to the precinct."

So the pair of them left the dressing room.

Very much as SSA David Rossi anticipated, Bobby Rodriguez caught up to him without much of any effort of Rossi's own part; all he really did was make it easy to find him. Rodriguez had made the effort to call him and express he was a fan, Morgan verified this with the books at the apartment, and since he was the self-proclaimed head of Shelley's security, it would only make sense to insert himself into the investigation any way he could.

"Hey, Agent Rossi" He called in greeting as he approached. He was wearing his trademark fedora, a heavy leather jacket, and a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses to match with a pair of black jeans and a pair of Converse sneakers –an incongruous red and white. In his right hand he was holding up a copy of a book; as he got closer Rossi recognized it as his latest effort, 'Deal with the Devil', which was a sort of cathartic account of the Tommy Yates case. Some could argue that that particular case was ongoing; Yates was indeed behind bars for the rest of his life, but as per their agreement the FBI was still finding the remains of his victims all up and down the West Coast. Shoved inside the inner breast pocket of his jacket was a rolled up paper. That was good; it meant he probably already read the story of Shelley's Guardian Angel. "I'm glad I got this chance to talk to you." Bobby said once he got close enough. He handed Rossi the book. "I know this isn't exactly the best time, but I don't know if I'll ever get a chance again. Do you mind just signing that?"

"Sure," Rossi said, taking the book and opening it to the inside front cover. He produced on his pens; he kept several to color-code notes he made on any given case. In black, he signed the book and handed it back to Bobby. "You're Rodriguez, right? I hear you're pretty much the head man in charge of Shelley's security detail."

Bobby eyed him suspiciously for an instant, but quickly brightened. "I guess she would have to tell you that." He considered. "Yeah, that's me. Like I said earlier, I've been pretty careful about who gets close to her ever since that creep Dryer tried to attack her, and seriously upped my game once those photos Fox came out."

"I bet you have." Rossi said, trying to give Bobby just a little more rope to hang himself with before playing his hand.

"But then, she says the only part about Fox's photos that pissed her off was that she wasn't in on the shoot; I guess that's some of royalties' thing or something. And then there's that asshat MacIver; I couldn't really do much about what he writes, now could I?"

"I suppose not." Rossi agreed.

"So have guys got anything new to try and catch this guy who's been killing people who cross Shelley?"

Rossi took notice of the tone Bobby's voice took when talking about her; it was almost reverent. It was as if he thought she could do no wrong; like she was perfect in every way and that the sun rose and set according to her timetable. Rossi was quite certain this was their UnSub; now if he could just get a confession out of him. Luckily, he had had a chance to work out how he was going to approach this.

"Actually we do." He confided. "You see, it comes down to the Bernadette Mendez slaying. She didn't do anything against Shelley Mason that we could find. She doesn't fit this guy's script, but the MO and the signature is the same, so we know it's the same guy. That got us thinking about the whole guardian angel angle that the media is playing on. You've read that article, right?" He laid down his first two cards.

"What about it?" he asked.

"In our original profile, we said that this guy is under the delusion that he is romantically involved with Shelley. Now we're wondering if maybe they really are involved." Rossi put the third card down.

Bobby's face lit up. "You think so?" he asked.

"It's possible," Rossi said with a kind of casual flair. "We think maybe that Bernadette flirted with the UnSub, and then he killed her to prove his loyalty." He paused for effect, and saw that Bobby blinked at that, and started rubbing his right temple with his left hand. Was that a little too close to the mark for Bobby's liking? "It's also possible that Shelley might even be putting this guy up to it all; she could be getting him to take out her enemies- real or perceived – in order to prove his love."

"No" Rodriguez said dryly.

"Well, hear me out." Rossi insisted gently. "It could be a team dynamic; a dominant planner and a submissive enforcer. It's a rare phenomenon, but it does have precedent. I've even seen cases where male and female team had a dominant female."

"No" Bobby said again. "I... I don't buy that. There's no way Shelley is involved. Shelley wouldn't do that." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just got a headache." Bobby laughed weakly. "There's been a lot of stress with the Festival and this killing business, you know?"

"I'll bet." Rossi said agreeably. "Maybe you should lie down or see a medic or something."

"No, I'll be alright." Bobby insisted. "I get the all these time...I mean I get these all the time the time and I'm time... I mean fine. I'll just go to first aid and get an aspirin." He put his sunglasses back on and turned to leave. He paused, turned back slightly and said, "Thanks again for timing... I mean signing your book."

"Don't mention it." Rossi called after him as he staggered towards the auditorium. To most, Bobby probably looked like he was nursing a hangover; but there was no liquor on his breath or his body odor; in fact he seemed like he was clean and well groomed. When Garcia gave a background on him, she mentioned he was once treated for an AVM. As to be expected, Reid explained what that was, and from what Rossi remembered, Bobby was showing similar symptoms now. He wondered if it was possible he had more than one of those things, or if the treatment didn't take. Maybe the stress of his job and the added pressure they were putting on him and Shelley was building up to seizure. If they didn't either get a confession out him or clear him as a suspect, they may have another set of problems on their hands...

Bobby did not go to the medic office; or at least not right away. First, he found the nearest men's room to vomit in the toilet stall. It was a close call, too. He made it; he didn't even lose his hat on the way. He skipped breakfast, so there wasn't a lot of content in his stomach to sick up; just a lot of bile, mostly. After that, his headache settled down from a sharp, piercing pain all the way down to more of a dull roar. That was something, anyway.

 _Feeling better, love?_

"A little, thank you." He replied.

 _Tell me what's going on._

"The BAU guys are close." Bobby answered. "They're planning on taking you in as an accomplice. I don't see any way around it; I can't let you go down like that. I'll have to turn myself in to protect you."

 _Get up and look at me, Bobby._

Bobby stood up and turned to face her.

 _Stop being stupid, Bobby._ She said, not unkindly. Somehow she managed to say it a way that was full of love. _We can get out of this. We can jet, just you and me, baby; on the road, just like Mickey and Mallory._

"But your music..."

 _That won't matter as long as we're together. All I need is you to keep me safe from jerks like Dryer, Fox, and MacIver. You proved I can trust you after that bitch Bernadette. We can get away from the Feds, especially since we have a way past them right now._

"How do you figure?" He asked. She pouted in that way he could not resist.

 _One of them took your letter away._ Shelley moaned. _He said he was going to do a handwriting analysis on it. He'll probably also ask a few different suspects to provide a sample for comparison._

"I don't get how that helps us." Bobby cried, doing his best not to panic and failing miserably. He hated feeling like this; he was supposed to be the strong one, the protector.

 _He tried to hit on me when I gave it to him._ She said. _To be fair, he backed right off when I turned him down, but that still has to be against some regulation or another. We can use that against him._

In spite of himself, Bobby grinned. It might just work; they could go to the administration and file a complaint. Of course, it would be that agent's word against theirs, but it would make a lot of trouble for the whole unit. That was probably trouble they wouldn't want. If he could just get the agent alone for two minutes, he could threaten to expose him for the pig he is unless he lets them walk.

"Which one was it?" He asked her.

 _I don't remember his name._ She answered. Then she pointed at the book he had tossed aside as he charged into the restroom. _Is there a picture of Rossi's team in there?_

There was; in the middle of the book there was a bunch of photographs, including one of the team as it was when David Rossi came out of retirement and the Unit Chief was Aaron Hotchner. Bobby scrambled to pick up his Ray-Bans and the book, which he flipped open to the middle where the photos were. Ignoring the crime scene photos, the shot of Tommy Yates, the small gallery of the victims they found so far, he went straight to the team photo. It was more of portrait than a photograph. Peering over his shoulder, Shelley studied the photo. Though he supposed it didn't really matter, Bobby knew which one he hoped she was talking about; he would be the easiest to intimidate.

 _That one,_ she said, pointing to Dr. Spencer Reid. That was what Bobby was hoping for; Reid was a genius and had an expertise in almost everything academic under the sun according to Rossi, but he couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag and was a lousy shot. _Doctor Spencer Reid; he's the one who tried to hit on me. He's a lot like Mike._

Bobby's grin turned malicious. "Here's what I'm going to do." He said. "First, I'm going to get that aspirin. Then I'm going to put this book away in my car. Then I'm going to find this so called doctor and take of everything." 


	9. Chapter 9

Rossi and Reid met up after Shelley was 'taken in for questioning' at a nearby coffee shop; it had a passably good Italian feel that Dave appreciated. It was, in his mind, the one good place in the State of California. The hook was baited, now they were waiting for either Bobby to bite and turn himself in, or for Alvez and Morgan to meet them so they could be ready in case the UnSub, probably Bobby Rodriguez, decided to try to fight his way to an escape.

"So what does that letter tell you about our boy Bobby?" Dave asked as Spencer dressed his coffee with about a quart of sugar.

"I'd need a sample of Robert's writing to verify the style, phrasing and key habits, but the UnSub is certainly reasonably intelligent, though careless. His spelling is good, but this letter is loaded with grammatical errors; sentence fragments, run-on sentences, and you can see here he has a tendency to neglect crossing his t's and dotting his i's, literally."

"So there's a good chance he'll start making mistakes," Rossi added. "He'll start missing details as the pressure builds up. What else is there?"

"I noticed that he doesn't go into a lot of specifics." Reid continued. Rossi saw that Alvez was pulling into the auditorium parking lot; he wasn't sure if Reid was aware of this or not. Sometimes it was hard to tell with the kid. "There's no specific time or date named about when they met, or what certain gifts or agreements they made – spoken or otherwise. Obviously this obscurity could be intentional in case this message should fall into the wrong hands, but that seems unlikely since he makes mention of the time she publicly acknowledged their relationship. It's much more likely that specifics aren't clearly indicated because in his mind she already knows those details."

Rossi saw Luke Alvez approaching from across the street. He raised an arm and waved Alvez to where they were seated.

"I wanted to ask you," Rossi said to Reid. "Bobby was diagnosed with an AVM when he got that concussion. A neurosurgeon was called in to perform an emergency surgery to have it removed. Is it possible that either he had more than one or that the surgery was botched? Or maybe a new one developed afterwards?"

Reid shrugged. "It's certainly possible; why do you ask?"

Rossi waited until Alvez sat down with them, his own coffee in hand before going on. "When I talked to Bobby this morning to plant the idea that we thought maybe the UnSub and Shelley were in on the killings together, he got really shaken up, even started showing signs of physical distress.

"Well that's good, right?" Alvez asked. "It could mean he's our guy and he's starting to break up. He may be more willing to turn himself in to protect her. That's what we're after, right?"

"True, but he was complaining about severe headaches, and then his speech pattern got all erratic; he started fixating on certain words and appeared confused and disoriented."

"Those are symptoms that could indicate an AVM relapse," Reid concurred. "It's entirely possible for stress – whether physical, emotional or mental – could aggravate it if he has one. It's also possible for an aggravated AVM to lead to seizures very similar to epilepsy."

"That's what I'm afraid of. If he decides to try and fight his way out we might have a whole different set of problems." Rossi said.

"Well, let's hope he opts to turn himself in to protect the name of the object of his affection." Alvez said.

Reid got up, collecting his coffee. He started back across the street.

"Where're you going in such a rush?" Alvez asked.

"Back across the street," Reid replied. "If for no other reason than to make it at least appear as if we really are setting down to question Shelley Mason."

He had a point, Rossi admitted to himself. There should be an agent present once JJ makes her announcement to the press. Dave glanced at his watch. That announcement should be happening within the hour. The kid asked him for the keys so he could drive to where Shelley was being escorted. Rossi gave him a comedic dubious glare as he fished the keys out of his pocket, feigning reluctance before tossing them. Reid caught the keys, thanked Rossi and started to make his way across the street.

Taking care to keep out of their line of sight, Bobby watched the Feds from across the street. He wished he could hear exactly what they were talking about; even though he had very little doubt it was about him and Shelley. What he was curious about, though, was if they knew the 'he' in that dynamic was him. It was possible; especially since Bobby was sure he saw Reid with his letter just before he met with Rossi. A short time later, another Agent, the one they called Alvez, rolled into the parking lot and crossed the street to join them. Were they clustering together on purpose? Shelley would probably know; but she was laying low until he made sure the coast was clear. If Bobby was going to hazard a guess, he would guess they were worried he was going to fight; of course they were right on that score. It would be smart of them to stay in groups and play the safety in numbers. This of course posed a problem; how was he going to get Dr. Reid on his own?

Then it happened; the doctor got up and left the group. Even better; he was coming his way. Bobby wondered where exactly he was planning to go, but supposed it didn't really matter. Maybe he was going to try and find Shelley; to try to make sure she doesn't rat him out for harassing her. He probably was going to do that; both because he didn't want to get in trouble with his bosses and because he knows exactly what happens to people who mess with Shelley. Everyone knows that, now. Everyone knows about her angel. As he ducked farther back out of the doctor's line of sight, it occurred to him that this could be some kind of trap; odds were good that either Rossi that Alvez guy might tail Reid to try and catch him in the act. That could be a problem. Bobby knew that he would have to act fast. With a little guy like Dr. Spencer Reid, that should be easy; it was just a matter of overpowering him and taking him to the storage room where Shelley was waiting. Bobby just had to hope that neither Alvez nor Rossi were following too closely. Bobby Rodriguez tucked his Ray-Bans into the breast pocket of his jacket and started putting on his vinyl gloves; it was just too bad he didn't have Crush mask with him. Then again, Shelley would be there to see it in person, and he wasn't planning on killing or even really hurting the beanpole Fed too much; just a little scare to make sure he knows his role...

After the uniforms of the Bakersfield PD took Shelley Mason to a safe place while they tried to draw their suspected UnSub Robert Rodriguez into surrendering himself, Dr. Spencer Reid made a point to know exactly where she was. Since JJ was bound to make her statement about questioning Shelley, it only made sense that an actual agent be at the scene where Shelley was at. It was also sensible that he be the one on that scene; if Robert does decide to fight, he was hardly the one to be around for that. Better to let Alvez and Morgan handle the fisticuffs. Of course, Rossi went and parked on the other side of the arena, making it necessary for Reid to walk around the building to get to the car. Well, it did give him a chance to think about a few things; specifically around that Butcher case in Miami.

The item that he kept coming back to was the blood slide found at the site where Travis Marshal died; based on the reports he managed to acquire – they looked like an attempt to destroy them was made- the slide was found quite by sheer luck on part of Maria LaGuerta. It was apparently discarded and found in a drain trap nearby the charred remains. The blood on the slide was verified as that of Travis Marshal, who was proven to be the Doomsday Killer in an investigation under the supervision of then Lieutenant Debra Morgan. The fact the slide existed at al made no sense. Marshal had no direct connection to James Doakes, Jacob Elway, or Hannah McKay. In fact there was only one clear indirection, for that matter; that connection was the Morgan family: Debra Morgan, now deceased, and Dexter Morgan, thought to be deceased up until as recently as Elway's copycat campaign. It seemed at every turn in anything that involves the Bay Harbor Butcher – either the original or the copycat – Dexter Morgan is in the picture somewhere. It was Dexter Morgan that revealed that James Doakes had a boat when he was questioned by the Deputy Chief of Miami Metro. It was Dexter Morgan that mentioned that he felt uncomfortable having his own boat so close to Doakes', which is why he moved to a different marina. It seemed a little convenient to Reid that this discomforting move happened just after Lead Forensics Investigator Vincent Masuka found an algae match rocks used to weigh the bodies down to a specific marina; the same one that Doakes allegedly kept his boat before retiring it to a shed. What Spencer had to wonder about now is if there would be a trace of those algae on Dexter's boat, too. Unfortunately, his boat, The Slice of Life, was destroyed in Hurricane Laura; the same storm that Dexter had used to fake his death for so long. This was, quite possibly, the frustrating puzzle Dr. Spencer Reid had ever encountered; everything circumstantial pointed to Dexter Morgan, but there was nothing empirical present. There were very few living people to ask about anything to do with the original case: There was Angelo Batista, Vincent Masuka, and Deputy Chief Matthews. In auxiliary to that, there was Sergeant Joe Flynn, and perhaps Astor and Cody Morgan; though they were young children during the original Butcher case. Another interesting thread that connected Dexter to the copycat, besides Elway's final target of McKay, was Jonah Mitchell – aka Mitchell Jones. Jonah was the son of Arthur Mitchell, otherwise known as the Trinity Killer. One of Elway's victims had the misfortune of bearing the same name as Arthur, which briefly made Jonah look like a suspect. At one point, Dexter was 'playing cop' and trying to compile evidence to present to his sister against Arthur Mitchell. Under the alias Kyle Butler, Dexter actually got quite close to the Mitchell family; even had Thanksgiving dinner with them shortly before the case broke. Perhaps there was something to look at through Jonah Mitchell or Mitchell Jones.

Spencer paused in front of a maintenance access door to make a call to Garcia. Rossi and Alvez were out of his line of sight, and the car was still a good distance away. His back was to the supposed one of the arena staff had to come out here for some reason and wedged the door open so they would not get locked out.

"Font of all knowledge; Doctor Reid, you're on line 1. Speak and be heard." Garcia answered.

"Garcia, I wonder if you can look up the background of someone for me." Reid said.

"Oh, boy wonder, you've come to the right place," Garcia replied. "Backgrounds are my specialty. Who is it you want me to look up?"

"Jonah Mitchell, otherwise known as Mitchell Jones," Reid answered. "I'm specifically looking for connections to Hannah McKay, Dexter Morgan, and Jacob Elway; I'm also curious about what he's been doing since after the deaths of his mother and his sister in Nebraska."

"I take it this is more about your re-examination of the Butcher case in Miami." Garcia commented. "Not to worry, I'll happily keep it confidential for the time being and be back at you faster than you can say thank you, Garcia; Penelope out." Then the line went abruptly silent before Spencer could say anything. He glanced around and still saw no sign of any staff member. Shrugging, he took a single step towards the parking lot...

...and was suddenly in a choke hold from behind and rapidly passing out as his assailant was dragging him into the service hall that the door led into.

The so-called good doctor dropped his coffee when Bobby grabbed him and got hold of him in what wrestling fans often call a sleeper hold to drag him into the hall and to the supply room where Shelley was waiting. For the briefest of moments he thought about going back to collect the cup in case one of the agent's associates came looking for him, and then decided there was no need; anybody could have dropped the coffee. They would probably just assume it was one of the venue staff. Dr. Reid also eventually lost grip of his phone and it clattered onto the hallway floor about halfway to where they were going. By then the Feeble Fed was out like a light, so Bobby put him down for a second to grab the phone; it would be good to have it on hand in case the other Feds try to call him. As Shelley would probably say, it would give them a head start. Stuffing the phone in one of his jacket pockets, he picked Dr. Reid back up and continued down the hall until they got to where they were going. He kicked the door to the storage room open and shoved Reid in unceremoniously; Reid crashed limply into a bunch of empty boxes. Shelley was sitting on a crate nearby.

Closing the door behind him, Bobby rushed to Reid and kicked his semi-prone form in the ribs.

"Wake up!" He barked. After two seconds, he crouched to pick the Fed up. "I said wake up, Doc!"He was aware in his periphery that Shelley was bouncing gleefully in her seat. Finally Reid started coming moment he was conscious enough to be coherent, Bobby grabbed him by the hair and forced his head to look at Shelley. "Apologize." He ordered.

"What are you talking about?" Dr. Reid asked.

Growling in frustration, Bobby took him by the collar of his jacket, swung him to one side and slammed his back into the adjacent wall.

"Tell her you're sorry for trying to make time with her, you scumbag!" He snarled.

"But I didn't!" Reid protested, whimpering.

" _Yes he did, baby_ ,"Shelley insisted. " _Just like I said; of course, he did back off as soon as I said no, so remember what this is really about."_

"I know all that," Bobby said to Shelley. Then to Dr. Reid; "It's your word against hers, Doc. You know we can probably have your job over this if we want. I don't think your bosses will think twice about cutting you loose if they can save a little face."

Spencer suddenly realized what was happening here. For a fraction of a second, Bobby Rodriguez averted his attention away from him and towards a nearby crate; as if someone else was there in the room with them. As far as Bobby was concerned, he was defending Shelley Mason's honor by forcing him to apologize for flirting with her. It seemed abundantly clear to Spencer that in a sense, the false angle the team was going to use wasn't false at all; in the mind of Robert Rodriguez, Shelley really was in on the killings. Maybe not outright telling him to do it, but perhaps manipulating him; certainly she was approving of his attempts at protecting her in the name of love. Rossi had said Rodriguez was exhibiting some of the signs of either another AVM or indications that the original operation didn't take. One of the extreme symptoms is hallucinations, rare as they may be. Obviously, Bobby was hallucinating now; those hallucinations served to confirm his erotic delusion concerning Shelley Mason.

Outside, Alvez and Rossi had agreed that maybe they should at the very least see Reid to the car. They traced his steps until they found the discarded coffee cup near the staff access door.

"That could be anyone's." Rossi suggested. "Maybe we don't need to panic just yet. Reid's a big kid, now; he can take care of himself."

"You know as well as I do he'd want the team to look out for each other." Alvez retorted. "Besides, the car's still here." He pointed into the lot where the car Rossi and Reid drove in was parked. The car was right where Rossi had parked it.

"Call Reid" Rossi said. "Let's see where he is."

Inside, Spencer decided what play to make; he would play along with the delusion for now. Since Bobby was attacking and effectively blackmailing a Federal Agent, it was pretty safe to guess what he was trying to do; he was trying to use this imaginary harassment as leverage to make a getaway.

"You're right." He said to Bobby. Then he looked over Rodriguez's shoulder towards the crate. "I can't tell you how sorry I am if I upset you in any way, Shelley. That's not what I wanted to do at all."

Bobby paused for a second; cocking his ear slightly, as if he was listening to someone behind him speak.

"Please don't tell my superiors." Spencer pleaded. "If you let me off the hook over this, I promise I'll never do anything like that ever again, and I give you my word I won't report either of you. Your case will go cold and unsolved, and you two can live out happy lives wherever you want."

His forearm still planted firmly across Reid's throat, Bobby smiled and nodded. With his free hand, he patted Reid on the cheek.

Then, from inside Bobby's jacket pocket, Dr. Spencer Reid's phone rang.

Outside, Luke Alvez dialed Spencer's number off his speed dial with his phone on speaker. First he and Rossi heard the ringtone on the speaker, and then it was followed very quickly after with the sound of a phone ringing somewhere behind the venue staff access door which was left ajar beside them. Alvez let the phone ring again to be sure; the same sequence took place. It was pretty clear that Reid was somewhere on the other side of that door. The sequence repeated a third time as he and Rossi drew their weapons and Rossi pulled the door open the rest of the way. Alvez kept his end of the line open so they could follow the tones to find Reid as they entered the hallway.

"Reid, are you in here?" Dave called out into the hallway.

Inside, Bobby clocked Spencer in the side of his head with a hard elbow, knocking him out cold. Behind him, Shelley cried out with a squeak; he wasn't sure if it was worry or approval she was expressing. At his point it didn't matter; he waved a hand at her to be quiet as he shut the phone off between the third and fourth ring. Soon whoever was trying to call him would get voicemail. From out in the hallway, they heard Agent Rossi call out for Reid; he and that Alvez guy must have decided to follow Reid from the coffee shop. That was the only way they could be this close already. There was no chance of sneaking out unseen; they would see the storage room door and have to check it. Bobby rubbed his temples; the headache was coming back.

" _Take his gun_." Shelley advised.

Bobby looked at her blankly. She had to know he was a lousy shot; he didn't even like guns.

" _They don't know that_." Shelley whispered frantically. " _Take it. Just in case you need it to lay down cover for us._ " Then she gave him that pout that he could not resist.

Finally Bobby nodded in consent; she was right, as always. Quickly he hunkered down and took Reid's pistol and then scrambled to a place just inside the door. They would be here any second now...

 _San Bernardino_

In Rock and Roll, notoriety is sometimes as good as fame. Or at least that is what seemed to be the philosophy of both Prettymouth and Naked Fire, JJ noted. Just outside the Police Department the press was out in full force; their cameras and microphones aimed at her and Deputy Harris as reporters pelted them with their questions:

"Is it true that Rigel Nordstrom of Naked Fire is a suspect in the Shelley's Angel case?"

"What is the connection between Prettymouth and Bernadette Mendez?"

"Is there any truth to the allegations that Shelley Mason may have actually put someone up to killing off her opponents?"

This was a scene SSA Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau remembered well from her early days as press liaison. It was really kind of like riding a bicycle; once you know how, you never really forget. Amidst the flurry of questions, she heard the one the team was hoping would come up; that meant her leak worked and the media had taken the bait. Now the question was whether or not the UnSub would take it, too. She already knew that she didn't need to worry about any character defamation suits coming from either singer; according to Luke, Nordstrom was already planning out a way to work the fact he was at one point considered a suspect into his act, and Spence had indicated Shelley was all too happy to play along. Obviously, if it all worked out, both singers would be 'cleared' accordingly, but JJ had no doubt both celebrities would be thrilled at the controversy that this kind of attention would generate for them; apparently it was all in how it was handled. It called to mind something out of a song by Marilyn Manson:"They love you when you're on all the covers. When you're not, then they'll love another."

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's important that you understand that as of right now the FBI is not pointing any fingers at anyone; we're just making sure that no stone is left unturned during this investigation. As of right now Shelley Mason of Prettymouth is certainly at the center of this case in that it appears our suspect has fixated on her. Whether or not she actually knows the man who is actually committing these crimes is unclear, so we are indeed questioning her in order to make that determination. That said, one of our agents has questioned Rigel Nordstrom and he is not likely to be directly involved in any of the killings. At present, there is no clear connection between Prettymouth and Bernadette Mendez." JJ answered.

"Has the relationship between Rigel and Shelley been confirmed?" One reporter asked.

"You have just said that Shelley might know the killer who appears to be acting on her behalf. Does the FBI believe she might have any guilty knowledge of these murders?" Another asked.

"Both Rigel Nordstrom and Shelley Mason have confirmed they have had relations with each other in the past," JJ replied, "and both have described their encounters as casual. Once again, the FBI has yet to confirm the exact level of Shelley's involvement with the Unknown Subject at this time; that is why she is being questioned."

"Agent Jareau," the second reporter spoke above the din, "four people are dead; Shelley Mason had lawsuits against two of them and a third one was highly critical of her work. Is it or is it not plausible that she may have decided that dealing with those three men legally was not enough?"

"I cannot underscore enough that this is exactly what we are to determine." JJ replied. "That will be all, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for your time, I can assure you that you will be kept up to date as the investigation continues."

 _Bakersfield_

"Reid's phone just went dead." Alvez said.

SSA David Rossi nodded knowingly as they came to a door. Dave pointed at the door and waved Luke forward. Just before Reid's phone stopped ringing, he was sure he heard from the other side. Alvez took a covering position as Rossi knocked lightly on the door.

"Reid? Bobby?" he called. "This is Agent David Rossi, open up."

After a moment of silence as response, Dave opened the door.

What happened next was so quick SSA Luke Alvez barely had time to process it before it was done. No sooner than Rossi opened the door than his wrist was clutched and he was dragged in. Before Luke could even react he heard Rossi yelp both in surprise and pain, and the sound of Rossi's firearm clatter to the ground.

Luke rushed in after Dave, weapon out. He was just about to identify himself as FBI when his gun was knocked out of his grasp and the muscular bulk of Robert 'Bobby' Rodriguez slammed him against the wall behind him. As Luke attempted to catch his breath, Bobby landed a couple of sharp high knees into his midsection, which was followed up by right forearm and a left jab; Luke only barely managed to move enough to make the jab a glancing blow. Even so, it was all enough to knock Alvez off his feet.

He shook out the cobwebs of this blitz attack soon enough to see Bobby run down the hallway towards the exit they came in from. He was shouting "Let's go!" as he ran.

Luke traded glances at the door with glances at Reid and Rossi. Dave was nursing a wrist and making his way towards Reid, who was starting to come to; clearly having been knocked cold. Judging from how hard Bobby just spanked him, Alvez could hardly blame Spencer for going down.

"Go after him!" Rossi ordered. "I got this."

Without a word of argument Luke collected and holstered his weapon and raced down the hall. Bursting out the door into the bright sunlight, he scanned the parking lot just as he heard three shots fired off. Taking cover and drawing his own weapon, he stole a look in the direction of the shots to see Bobby hop into a vehicle. Satisfied that the shots Bobby fired were nothing more than cover, Alvez sprinted towards the car. Bobby gunned the engine and sped off, heading towards the highway.


	10. Chapter 10

"You were right." Reid said once he was conscious and coherent. "Bobby has had a relapse of his AVM. I'm quite sure that he's hallucinating that Shelley is with him; that will obviously serve to heighten his delusion that the two of them are involved, and he may even actually believe she really is prompting him to do the things he's been doing. We need to keep him from getting too agitated, or he'll become increasingly more erratic and could have another seizure."

David Rossi was just about to tell him not to worry; that Alvez was right behind him and this thing with Bobby Rodriguez was as good as done when Luke returned to the store room. Rossi and Reid looked up at Alvez, who shook his head to indicate that, no; he didn't catch up with Rodriguez.

"He had a gun and laid down cover fire." Luke explained quickly. "Then he hopped into a vehicle and sped off onto the highway. I already contacted authorities with the make, model and licence plate."

"Call Garcia and get her to contact Morgan." Rossi advised, pulling out his own phone. "Maybe he can intercept Bobby's escape route. Bobby took Reid's gun and phone; I'm going to call him and try to talk him down. We had an established rapport, there's a chance I can get him to turn himself in after all."

Bobby was turning onto the Interstate 5, southbound and making a run for Mexico when Reid's phone rang in his pocket again. On reflex, he pulled it out and looked at the display. It read as Rossi

"It's Agent Rossi." He said to Shelley who was in the passenger seat.

 _"Why do you still have that thing, anyway?"_ She asked him. _"Toss it out the window."_

As the phone rang, Bobby glanced back and forth between her and the phone. He knew that she was probably right; he should get rid of the phone. Curiosity however was unbearable; he felt like he had to know what Dave Rossi had to say. Wincing – his headache was getting to be a real pounder even after taking that aspirin – he answered the phone.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"Bobby, I need you to listen to me very carefully." Rossi replied. "I know you think you're protecting Shelley by doing what you're doing, but I can assure you you're only making things worse for the both of you. If you stop the car and wait for the authorities, we'll say you turned yourself in and cooperated; that'll do a lot to make a case for leniency."

" _It's a trick, hon."_ Shelley warned.

Bobby hissed through his teeth to hush her, rubbing his right temple as his headache got steadily worse. "Do you really think I'm going to fall for that?" He retorted. "Your little buddy promised to let us walk away if I didn't rat him out. I know how this works, Dave; you guys will say anything to make a bust."

"That might be how it looks to you now, but I give you my word that any deal the Bureau has ever made we've honored; anything less would just be bad public relations." Rossi countered. "All we want is to resolve his mess without anybody else getting hurt."

"That's a joke, right?" Bobby sneered. "Do you want me to start listing off the ways you Feds have double crossed people? Or how about how your tactics have backfired on you and ruined the lives of thousands or even millions of Americans?"

"I'm certainly willing to hear your perspective, Robert, but I'd much rather talk to you face to face." Rossi offered. Then Bobby heard someone in the background say something that sounded like 'got him'.

 _"They're tracking the phone! Get rid of it!"_ Shelley shouted.

"No, we're done talking! Double done talking, Done double talking, done!" Bobby yelled into the phone before tossing it out the driver side window. Soon after that, Bobby could hear sirens approaching. He hit the accelerator and was glad that he had already lost his breakfast when he got that cotton feeling in his jaw that he always got when he felt like he was going to puke.

Derek Morgan was heading northbound on the I-5, just exiting Los Angeles when the phone rang.

"Is that my baby-girl?" Derek answered, smiling.

"As much as I love our completely platonic torrid banter, dark passion, now is not the time." Garcia shot back, sounding unusually worried. "Alvez just called and Rossi and Reid are down and Rodriguez is in the wind and..."

"Slow down, Garcia," Morgan said gently. "Take a breath and let your magic do its thing, girl."

Garcia took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "Okay; thank you." She said.

"Okay, good; now let's do this one thing at a time." Derek pressed gently in order to keep Penelope's head where he needed it. "First thing; are Rossi and Reid alright?"

"Yes; I mean, I think so. Alvez said they seemed shaken but healthy."

"That's good." Derek encouraged. "Now you said Rodriguez is in the wind. I take it he's the UnSub. You were talking to Alvez, right?"

"Yes."

"Where's he in all this?"

"He said he was on his way to his car to start pursuing Bobby." Garcia replied.

"That's what I was hoping to hear." Derek said. "See, if I know my sweet thing Penelope Garcia, she's already worked a little bit of her magic and has pretty good idea where our UnSub is and where he's heading."

"That's what I love about you, Derek Morgan." Garcia said sounding a little bit more like her usual self. "Whenever I'm on the ledge you're always there to talk me down; because you're right, dark delight. It seems our thug of the week stole Reid's gun and phone, and Rossi called him, so I was able to ping the phone heading south on the I-5 just before it went dead. Alvez is heading that way and the police have been dispatched even as we speak."

"Then we've got him." Derek replied. "I'm headed north on the 5, so we can sandwich him in. Thanks Baby-Girl." Garcia told him the make, model and licence of Rodriguez's vehicle, and then bid her dark fantasy good-bye with a warm you're welcome as they both disconnected the call. Derek hit the accelerator and turned on the siren. He had just gotten past a nasty five-car pileup when Garcia called him, so even if Bobby managed to get past him, he would get stalled by the crash.

Then his phone rang again.

"This is Morgan."

"I almost forgot," Garcia said. "Reid thinks our boy Bobby might be on the verge of an AVM seizure, so any high speed chase could very easily turn out very bad. Be careful out there, Derek."

"I will."

On the bright side, that cotton feeling was clearing away; Bobby was pretty sure he wouldn't puke now. On the bad side, that cotton feeling was replaced with the taste of mint; like he'd been chewing on a leaf or something. The thing was, he hadn't eaten anything minty in years; in fact, he avoided mint whenever he could. There wasn't any specific reason; he didn't have any allergies or anything like that. It was just...

 _"Are you okay, hon? You don't look so good."_

"I'm fine, baby." Bobby replied, trying to smile; knowing the effort was weak at best, betraying the truth at worst."I just felt a little sick for a second, but that's clearing up. I think I just need quiet for a minute while I drive us outta here."

The sirens behind them were getting closer; they were probably on the 5 by now. He didn't get rid of that damn phone soon enough. Shelley was right; he should have gotten rid of it as soon as Rossi called. He should never have answered it in the first place. Why was he making so many mistakes? The headache was throwing him off his game, for one thing. It was hard to concentrate.

" _WATCH THE LANE, BABE!_ "

Bobby blinked and saw he had veered into the oncoming lane. With a jerk he cranked the wheel and corrected that, oncoming cars blaring their horns at him as they passed by. In his rear-view mirror, he thought for a second he saw red and blue lights in the distance, but then they were gone; in fact the road seemed unusually clear both ways...

His smile gained a bit of strength as he seized the opportunity and picked up speed, thinking he just got a lucky break in the form of an open path.

Sirens wailing, SSA Luke Alvez weaved his way to the head of the group of patrol cars that came together in pursuit of Robert Rodriguez. In his rear-view, he saw that ambulance had joined the charge. That was good; they would need them if Bobby had a seizure. That was probably Penelope that set that up. She also just finished calling him to advise him that Morgan was coming in from the other direction; they had Bobby boxed in. While things could still get messy, this one was pretty much over; Bobby just didn't know it yet. The only question he had right then was just how far ahead did Rodriguez get, anyway? That was when the traffic, even the vehicles pulling over to the noise of the sirens, broke up. He had a clear run. Luke Alvez hit the gas.

The mint taste in his mouth was getting so intense he could actually smell the mint. His headache was like a pile driver inside his skull. And now, Bobby felt a kink building up in his neck. By reflex he took one hand off the wheel to try to massage it. That was when the road ahead of him bent and warped for a second in a kind of weird ebb and flow of the tide. Bobby quickly put his hand back on the wheel and swerved to keep the car on the thought he saw the red and blue lights behind him again. No, they were ahead of him. No they weren't there at all... what was happening? Wincing, he reached up to his neck again.

" _Are you sure you're okay?_ "

"Yeah, I'm fine." Bobby said. "I just got a kink in my neck. A kink in my neck...a kinky neck...kinky neck...a kink...a...KECK!"

Bobby Rodriguez's entire body went into spasm all at once. Involuntarily clenching his right fist, his right arm swung out wildly. His fist slammed hard into the head rest of the passenger seat. At the same time, the kink in his neck seized up; cinching his head abruptly to the right while both legs jerked forward pressing down on both the gas and brake pedals; his left hand gripped the wheel and cranked it hard to the left.

Even as the world outside shrank into something like a tunnel of lights streaking by like jumping into light speed in those Star Wars movies and from outside the windshield he saw the red and blue lights of police, the world slipped sideways and downwards. Bobby began jerking uncontrollably; it was as if God was really just a sadistic teenager zapping him with jolts of electricity. Almost irrelevantly, Bobby wondered for an instant where Shelley was; was she thrown from the car? During the moment he had to even consider that possibility, the windshield revealed the road and nothing else, and then the world slid sideways again and everything spun wildly until the sky was where the road should be and the road was where the sky should be. Jerking and convulsing, Bobby was about to pass out; he was only barely aware of the wail of the incoming sirens.

Derek Morgan saw the car ahead of him and coming his way. First it was racing towards him, then it suddenly stopped; Bobby had slammed on the brakes. At the speed he was going, the car lurched forward and began to spin to the left, coming off its rear wheels and jumping up onto its front end. There it was suspended for a fraction of a second before crashing down on its passenger side and then tipping onto its roof.

It was go time; Derek went into action without much thought at all. In many ways he felt like he did when this was his life. Even as he saw that Alvez and the Bakersfield PD were approaching, he hit the brakes and was out of the car in a flash; sprinting towards Bobby's upturned vehicle. By the time he got there, Alvez was stopping his car and coming in with him.

Getting there, it was immediately clear that Bobby was in a bad way; he was thrashing and convulsing in the inverted car, trapped behind the steering wheel and pinned by his seat belt. Derek reached into the car and unlatched the seat belt and Luke caught Bobby's shoulders. While Bobby was involuntarily struggling against them, Derek added support to Luke's effort and the both of them managed to drag Bobby out and to a relatively safe distance from the crash before letting him go so the medics could come in and do their thing.


	11. Chapter 11

_Los Angeles, California_

Other than Derek and Luke, who arrived with the UnSub, SSA Jennifer Jareau was the first to arrive at the hospital where Bobby Rodriguez was taken to after he was apprehended. Spence and Dave were just then on their way via a hospital transfer following treatment for their injuries in Bakersfield. Derek came up to her as she approached.

"Rodriguez was in the middle of a seizure when the accident happened." He told her. "Paramedics got the seizure under control on site. He got pretty banged up, but most of those injuries are minor compared to the AVM. They have called in a specialist to do an emergency operation. In the meantime, Rodriguez is being kept under close observation."

"Well I guess it could've ended a lot worse." JJ replied. "Are you and Luke alright?"

"Yeah."

Luke joined them.

"So what about Reid and Rossi?" he asked. "Are they going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. They're on their way via hospital transfer now. The doctors insist; and Spence might be kept from the field for a little while." JJ answered.

"Damn, this team just keeps getting smaller and smaller." Alvez said.

"It'll only be a few days; a week tops." JJ retorted. "Besides, I heard from Garcia on the way here. Emily is cleared to return, and Lewis and Simmons are back from leave."

"Sounds to me like Emily's idea of rotating leaves isn't quite working the way she hoped." Alvez quipped. For a second Derek looked a little lost, though the look was quickly dispelled. He probably dismissed any questions he might have had, reasoning out that it was about something that went on after he left the BAU.

"Hey, get this," Derek added. "The paramedics said that the whole time over here in the ambulance that Bobby was in and out of consciousness; every time he came to he would ask if Shelley was alright."

"My guess is that when he gets interrogated he'll deny she had anything to do with anything." Alvez said. "He'll want to protect her."

JJ frowned. "That depends on whether or not the delusion holds after his AVM is resolved. Spence said it seemed to him that his hallucinations were her giving him advice. It's most likely that he was superimposing her voice and image upon his own violent ideations. If the delusion breaks he might realize that. If it doesn't, there's a chance he might feel like she has betrayed him somehow and then he might say it was all her idea."

Even without anyone saying so, JJ also realized that it was entirely possible he might try to protect her even if the delusion did hold; which Spence believed it would. He said that the erotomaniac delusion and the AVM are most likely two different issues and that the AVM hallucinations really only served to create a confirmation. Still, JJ figured that once he realizes that she isn't coming to see him or trying to bail him out or anything, he could testify against her for plea bargain.

In the hospital transfer vehicle, SSA David Rossi watched Reid closely for a minute before saying anything. The kid was getting all quiet, his head tilted slightly to one side. Rossi could almost hear the synapses in the boy genius's brain firing at laser beam speed. Reid might not be the most physically intimidating guy, but intellectually speaking, that was another story. For that reason, David Rossi sometimes thanked God that the kid was on their side.

"You know, I can hear you thinking from here." Rossi finally said. "Something is going on in that skull of yours. Care to share with the class?"

Reid looked at Rossi blankly for a second. "Oh, it's nothing really." He said.

"I seriously doubt that." Rossi retorted, not unkindly. "Even after a concussion, your brain works better than just about anyone I know. But if you wanna keep your thoughts to yourself," Rossi raised his one good hand in capitulation, "that's your right."

"I was just thinking about your idea to put it in Rodriguez's head that we suspected Shelley was putting him up to killing her enemies or any threat to their relationship; including his past relationship with Bernadette."

Rossi said nothing; he just nodded slightly to indicate he was following Reid's thread.

"Well in a sense, she was; at least in his mind. When we were in that storage room he was talking to her; taking her advice and pitting my word against hers. I-I know she wasn't really there, but as far as he was concerned she was. That was a hallucination, probably caused by poor circulation resulting from an AVM. The thing is I'm not convinced the delusional thinking was. I mean, it could have been, but not necessarily. With the AVM treated, the hallucinations should stop, but the delusion might not." Reid said.

"So when he realizes that she's left him cold to rot in jail or an institution, he might get pissed off enough to change his mind about protecting her." Rossi replied, seeing where Reid was going. "He could try to make a bargain by revealing that the killings were her idea, and he was just a big dumb dupe in her twisted schemes."

"Exactly," Reid said, "and in his mind he would be telling the whole truth. It's not likely that he would get very far that way, but you never know. Also, if he ever gets declared well enough to integrate into society, it could mean Shelley's Angel could become her demon."

"If that happens, kid," Rossi said, "we'll just have to catch him again. That's what we do. I know it seems like it never ends; that's because it doesn't. Not for us, and not for them. It's kind of like the cycle of day and night."

Dr. Spencer Reid had to agree with Rossi on that point. He let the conversation go on that note and retreated back into his own thoughts. He was wondering if Garcia had found anything in her search pertaining to the Morgan's and Jonah Mitchell.

 _Wake up, hon._

Reluctantly, Bobby gripped his way into the world of the waking. With one eye swollen shut, he could only open one; this along with the fact that his entire body seemed to ache and itch contributed to his nearly immediate understanding of where he was and why he was in the hospital. He crashed the car trying to escape the cops and the Feds with Shelley. Since he was here and all banged up, it was safe to assume he was caught. It was over; probably for Shelley too. He screwed up

 _Welcome back to the land of the living, lover!_

Bobby strained and winced in pain as he lifted his head to put the source of the voice speaking him into his line of sight at the foot of the bed. Standing there was Shelley Mason. She was perfect; not a scratch on her. Clean and smiling, she took a bow.

 _Don't try to talk._ She said. _I got thrown from the car out the window right before the crash and managed to roll out of the way onto the shoulder. I didn't even have to say anything; they thought you kidnapped me or something. It turns out that Rossi was bluffing us out so you'd make a move._

Relieved, Bobby set his head back down. Shelley was safe; her career would continue. That was what mattered now. Yes, he screwed up and would almost certainly be going to jail. Hopefully he could escape the death penalty – did California have the death penalty? – when he got to trial, but Shelley Mason would not suffer for his mistakes. He remembered that he had a massive seizure; that was how he lost control of the car. That had to be because of another of those AVM's the doctors found last time. He might even be able to use that as an excuse for his actions. They probably won't even be able to try him until he gets another surgery, so that should buy him some time to set up a plausible defense. Shelley will probably get him the best lawyer available, and would no doubt visit him every chance she gets. Of course, he'd have to be patient; she does have her music to make. With that in mind, Bobby closed his eyes and began to drift back to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

_Tijuana, Mexico_

 _Tonight is the night._

 _It took me nearly a week of nearly non-stop driving to get from Miami to Tijuana; I might have been able to do it quicker than that, but I wanted to be sure the police and the FBI were not trailing me. The last thing I needed was to get caught just when I was about to be reunited with my family. As it turned out, Hannah was planning to move yet again; this time under the name Jennifer Fisher._

 _For his part, Harrison has gotten so big since the last time I saw him; and he's really gotten very bright. Hannah has done a brilliant job of raising him; other than Rita herself, I don't think I could have asked for a better matron for my son. It's an added bonus that Hannah and Harrison have just enough similar features that nobody would question that he is her son. I was a little concerned at first that he might resent me for faking my death and ditching him; that concern turned out to be groundless. He seems to understand all too well my reasoning; one time when we talked about it he even muttered that he would probably have done the same thing. The comment struck me as slightly odd, and it caught the Dark Passenger's attention, but I dismissed it as a youth's imagination from maybe a little too much TV. At any rate, he seems to understand the situation perfectly and so far there's been no trouble with it. When he heard my new name he laughed, saying it was perfect in light of my extracurricular activities. I asked him what he meant by that and he produced a comic book of some superhero or another that had featured a gun-toting guest character wearing an outfit with a skull on it. Apparently this guest star was known as the Punisher, and he was well known for his hard, show no mercy brand of justice against criminals. Harrison explained to me this vigilante's secret identity was Francis 'Frank' Castle._

 _Astor has a sense of humor._

 _As for me, Astor had arranged a new identity as well; I was actually quite impressed with it. She even spoofed a bit of a medical history to go with it; nothing too spectacular, but there was enough there to look like Frank Castle was a real person should anyone want to do a background check. While Hannah and Harrison got all set to move, I got things together in their new home in San Diego. The story Hannah and I came up with went like this: Jennifer and Frank met each other while Frank was vacationing as he was taking a 'time out' to contemplate a new career path. They fell in love and decided move in together. Hannah (or Jennifer, I suppose) has for herself a little florist business; and I, as Frank Castle, am planning on setting up a courier business once we are settled in San Diego._

 _And tonight is the night. The new house in San Diego is ready for us, and their house in Tijuana is all packed up. We begin the move first thing in the morning._

"I have something to show you." Hannah said, joining Dexter as he stood on the front stoop sipping quietly on a bottle of Canadian beer. Or at least he presumed it was Canadian; the label said it was.

Dexter looked to his side where Hannah was; she had a small cigar box with her.

"When did you take up smoking those?" He asked her jovially.

"You're funny." Hannah shot back, smiling. "Seriously, though; this isn't mine. I found this while packing up Harrison's room. I found it by accident; there were some loose floorboards in his closet and this was hidden under them."

 _Amateur hiding spot; it's exactly the kind of thing police would look for. Still, at his age, what could anyone really expect?_

Dexter set the bottle gently on the banister in front of him and turned to face Hannah. Obviously her concern was not about the box itself, so it had to have something to do with the contents inside of it. She handed him the box, which he took. Then he opened the box to take a look inside. Viewing the contents, he glanced back up at Hannah with a raised eyebrow in inquiry as to its relevance.

There were exactly two items inside the box: A collar for what was likely a very large dog, and a small brown glass bottle; a little smaller than a test tube.

"We never had a dog." Hannah answered the unasked question. "But there was a dog in the neighborhood that suddenly went missing about a month or so before that Bay Harbor crap started up again in Miami. It wore a collar just like that one." She waved a hand at the box. "Take a look in the glass if you need another clue as to why this is important."

Suddenly it was starting to come together for him. Why it hadn't right away was kind of a puzzle; the only answer he could come up with for it was that since Harrison was his son, he was willfully denying the obvious. If it wasn't his own flesh and blood in question, he'd be a little embarrassed by the sentimentality of it. Just the same he opened the glass; inside it he found a Q-tip with blood on it. From there it was easy to put it all together; Harrison must have killed the dog and kept the collar and the blood as trophies.

"Like father, like son," Dexter muttered. He really shouldn't be too surprised; like his father, Harrison was born from questionable genes – at least paternally speaking. Like his father, Harrison's mother was viciously murdered right in front of him, and he was left literally bathing in her blood. Maybe there was something to be said about inheriting a curse like the Dark Passenger, after all. They had the same genes and virtually the same upbringing. Dexter had hoped that if he stayed away that maybe he wouldn't taint Harrison. It was starting to look like he was wrong. "Did anyone come looking in his direction when the dog went missing?"

"No," Hannah said. "I'm pretty sure he covered his tracks well enough to avoid that."

"Well, that's something, at least." Dexter said, acting glummer than he actually felt.

"Or he may have gotten lucky." Hannah was quick to add. "I haven't had a chance to ask him about any of it, and to be honest I think that is something you should address. You've managed to avoid capture your whole life; you know how to do it right."

"I had a good teacher." Dexter replied, thinking of Harry.

"That's exactly my point, Dexter." Hannah said. "I can't think of a gentle way to put this, so I'm just going to say it. If Harrison is like you, then it's just a matter of time before he progresses. Without some kind of guidance, he'll probably get caught, and neither of us could bear that. It's up to you, Dexter. Do what you have to do."

Dexter nodded remorsefully. Outwardly his heart was breaking; he wanted a better life for his son than the one he had. Inwardly, however, he could feel his Dark Passenger dancing and wordlessly cheering at the prospect of having a protégé; that it was his own flesh and blood was all the better. That made it like a legacy, a family tradition of blood and justice. Besides, in way it could be kind of fun; father and son working on projects together, and eventually the father stepping aside to let the son take the lead.

"I'll tell you what," he said finally, "Once we're done the move, I'll sit him down and talk to him. Then we can decide what it is I have to do. Does that sound fair enough to you?"

Hannah smiled. "It sounds perfectly fair." She said, taking his hand in hers. "You know, you might want to give yourself a little more credit than you do. You're going to be a fine father."


End file.
